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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714490">Apathetic Affection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer'>SnowSlayer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Samurai Jack (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Failing Health, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mentions of Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:14:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the classic story of assassin meets bounty hunter and the assassin falls in love. The bounty hunter does not. He cannot fall in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>franmouche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Special thanks to SalaciousShipping and SapphireSins for allowing me to borrow Francis and their Franmouche ideas! You can find more information about Salacious Shipping's artwork here (https://twitter.com/salaciousships?lang=en).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 1:</p><p>The complete and utter lack of anger was what threw him. Scaramouche could not help but think this bot was programmed to feel nothing. Hell, maybe this was just a shell and he was being piloted remotely. If so, kudos to the creator, as this bot had done quite a number on the target before Scaramouche had made the final blow.</p><p>“Seems we have a predicament, babe,” Scaramouche gave a half nod towards the dead bounty. The long-haired bot’s eyes flicked down before coming back up to rest on Scaramouche’s face. There was no other change. Scaramouche took the time to scan the bot, figuring that the bot must be doing the same and figuring out if Scaramouche could be taken down. Arching an eyebrow as he skimmed the data, he waited for the bounty hunter, Francis, to say anything. Something was up, considering how low this bounty hunter’s rank was and how skilled he would have had to been to do so much damage.</p><p>“You killed him, so he’s yours.” It was said so bluntly as if he were merely stating a fact and not the fact that he was given up a huge bounty without any sort of fight. Maybe without a care.</p><p>Assuming he was just waiting for the right moment to strike, Scaramouche sent in the photographic evidence and claimed the reward. He thumbed out his dagger. The two halves slid apart and he tapped the blade across the bounty’s head. Jumping clear, the body exploded. Francis had taken a few steps back and continued backing away.</p><p>“Say, babe, you did most of the work, so what do you say we split the reward?”</p><p>“You don’t have to.” That was not what he expected, but Scaramouche had already decided he was giving a cut to this bot. He had made his life significantly easier. Taking a few long steps, he closed the gap between them and nodded. The monetary credits were transferred for the entire catch if only to get a reaction out of him. There was a touch of confusion as Francis tilted his head and a pause.</p><p>“I thought we were splitting the reward.” Scaramouche could not quite tell if it was a question or a statement.</p><p>“We are. You got the money, and I got the credit. Seem fair to you, babe? Or did you want some of the credit?” It would make a dent in his pay, but not enough he was worried. There were only a few large assignments up for grabs at the moment. He could always supplement with some small fry if he really felt like it. If he was lucky, maybe Francis would let him tag along to take out anything that dared set foot in the forest. There was just something about this bot that intrigued him. Was it just a really solid performance or was he just some hardened bounty hunter? If so, he was a very skilled and very handsome one at that.</p><p>“That seems fair to me.” He supposed it made sense why his rank was so low if he often did not take full credit and just the cash.</p><p>“Well then, babe, since we’ve taken care of business, I would like to propose a new deal: half the credit and half the reward. You up for a few joint missions? My calendar has just cleared for the rest of the week.” There was the blank look as Francis studied him. After a long pause, he nodded. Scaramouche blinked in surprise before letting his grin spread wider.</p><p>“Then lead the way, gorgeous. You seem to know the forest well, babe.” Scaramouche had kept his eyes trained on the shorter hunter’s face, but there was nothing in relation to the new nickname. They walked along in silence for an hour. Doing a quick scan of the area, Scaramouche spoke again.</p><p>“Do you have a name, babe or shall I keep thinking of you as the handsome hunter?” Scaramouche posed as if he had not just reread all that was in the database and requested a complete list of Francis’ catches from some higher powers. They both know it was just a polite gesture.</p><p>“Francis.” Scaramouche waited a few more seconds.</p><p>“Scaramouche, babe! At your service!” Francis gave him a nod to indicate he had heard. Scaramouche mouth twitched as they dropped back into silence. He supposed it just meant Francis was a professional, yet he could not shake the hope that it was just Francis playing hard to get.</p><p>They trailed a target until it became too dark. Scaramouche only rolled his eyes as Francis seemed too willing to just sleep on the ground. He pulled out his flute and began to play softly. Rearranging the nearby rocks, he laid out two slabs to be used as a bed. There was a layer of moss, but it certainly was better than sleeping on the ground.</p><p>“Impressive.” Had any of his colleagues used that flat tone when they said that to him, Scaramouche would have challenged them on the spot to do better. He had to click his fans on to calm himself. Francis just … did not seem to emote. At all. Perhaps he was just nervous or used to pure isolation. Based on the list he had received, Francis seemed to hunt and turn in targets pretty regularly, which meant he was out all the time and likely not around others too often. Scaramouche would cut him some slack. There had to be some sort of feelings in there, since allowing Scaramouche to tag along could not have been a solely logical decision. It would have been far too dangerous and therefore something other than logic had to have come into play. Scaramouche talked at him for hours. All he could get was very short answers or a shrug and what he got out of him was usually something he already knew from the report.</p><p>“Why’s your rank so low, babe? You’ve turned in some very impressive catches and would have certainly taken out today’s target.” Another shrug.</p><p>“I’m saying you must be quite talented, babe!” Scaramouche tried again, still grinning brightly. It had slipped into his fake grin he bestowed on his targets, unable to keep up the real deal as he felt like he was slamming head first into a very solid wall. Repeatedly slamming his head into said wall. “There’s gotta be more to the story.”</p><p>“They think I’m a fraud.” Scaramouche’s smile slipped for a second as he regarded him closely. The rankers thought he was a fraud? With those results and no one claiming he had stolen their target? So he told him as much.</p><p>“A fraud? Unless you’ve got someone else lurking in the shadows, babe, I can vouch for you. That target was no pushover! Maybe I should’ve split the credit with you. That alone should bump you up a rank!”</p><p>“It was your kill. You didn’t have to give me any of the reward either.”</p><p>“You’re impossible, babe, do you know that?” his smirk was a little softer now. At least he was getting something. “Why do they think you’re a fraud?”</p><p>“Because I don’t have any innate abilities. I’m not a bounty hunter.” Scaramouche snorted.</p><p>“I wasn’t built to be a bounty hunter either, but look where I am, babe! Doesn’t matter how you’re built.” Francis did not bestow on him a grateful smile. He merely remained staring blanky at the assassin as he had all evening.</p><p>“So then … are you a fraud, babe?”</p><p>“That’s what I’ve been told.” Scaramouche did not even try to mask the sigh as he found them back in an loop again.</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> think you’re a fraud, babe? That’s the only opinion that matters!” Well, that was a lie. The rankers did have a lot of say and it did impact the type of jobs Francis could get, plus the likelihood of private contractors.</p><p>“I wasn’t built to be a bounty hunter,” he stated again. Scaramouche shook his head and turned away from the intent stare.</p><p>“Fine, babe. You don’t have to talk. Get some sleep. I’ll take the first shift.” The command was tinged with anger. Francis made no protest or attempt to defend himself. He merely laid down on the rock and that was the end of the conversation.</p><p>This bot truly was impossible, or one hell of a good actor. Scaramouche supposed that maybe something had just been built wrong or went bad and he had not had the funds to repair it. The bounties this bot brought were consistent with timing, but some were decidedly small. Perhaps money was an issue. Scaramouche had noted how tattered Francis’ clothing looked. They had been repaired a number of times. Scaramouche had just chalked it up to being in the woods so often. There was more to this story and now he was feeling bad about snapping at him. He considered waking him to apologize, but figured he could do better.</p><p>Since the forty-eight hour window on the bounty had not elapsed yet, he updated the kill to indicate Francis had assisted. That would award him half the credit and surely Scaramouche’s reputation was enough to verify Francis’ performance.</p><p>~/~</p><p>“YOU DECLINED IT?” Scaramouche stopped dead in his tracks. They were in the middle of the correction window for the updated kill and Scaramouche’s rank tracker had just pinged him that his credit had increased significantly. Francis glanced back as he came to a stop. After studying Scaramouche a moment longer, Francis spoke.</p><p>“Oui. The deal for the target was you took the credit and I got the money.”</p><p>“Okay, babe, but I was <em>giving</em> you half the credit. It was basically your kill and it seems you have enough trouble already with the rankers,” Scaramouche insisted. Why would this bot not accept his gift?</p><p>“I would rather have the money.”</p><p>“Yes, <em>I get that</em>, babe. I’m not asking for the money back. I am <em>giving</em> you the credit <em>you deserve</em>!” Francis continued to stare blankly at him. He blinked slowly and responded.</p><p>“But you made the kill.”</p><p>“I took <em>your</em> kill right out of your hands. If you had another thirty minutes – hell, maybe just fifteen – you would have had him, babe! I <em>stole</em> it from you and it’s like you don’t even care. Do you care?”</p><p>“The money was the only thing that mattered. I was short on funds. The credit would not have mattered either way.” Scaramouche let out another frustrated sigh before turning back and continuing their hunt.</p><p>“Then I guess we better get back to work, babe.” It came out nastier than intended. Scaramouche forced his fans on again to cool off as he seethed. His gift had been so blatantly declined and he had no idea why! There was no expectation that the funds would be returned, and even after he explained that to this bot … Except Francis knew the most efficient use of the credit would be in Scaramouche’s accounts.</p><p>Taking a glance back, he saw Francis was absorbed in tracking. It was not fair to get mad at him like that. After they had taken out their target, Scaramouche turning in the photographic evidence to give them each half the credit and money before disposing of the body, he finally apologized.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier, babe. I just … it’s not fair the rankers are against you,” he murmured, wishing he had more sway and knowing he was already on thin ice with the ranker that approved assassins. He knew the issues of not being built to be a bounty hunter or assassin and trying to rank up, but it had not bothered him once he had made his first impressive kill. “What do you say if we call this the last mission of our co-op team, we grab a nice dinner, and then I’ll get out of your hair?”</p><p>“Okay.” Scaramouche waited for more before nodding towards their bags. They headed back to town. Now that they were no longer hunting, Scaramouche tried to get Francis to talk, yet he was still getting short, to the point answers. Even his more aggressive flirting tactics hardly elicited anything. He was careful not to explode at him again. He just needed to figure out how to unlock the side Francis must be keeping hidden. Scaramouche picked the café he wanted and pulled out a chair for Francis. He settled into his own and scanned the menu. A server bot rolled up and Scaramouche placed his order. He balked as Francis ordered a tasteless option.</p><p>“You can’t possibly enjoy something like that, babe,” Scaramouche protested. Francis merely shrugged as the server bot idled nervously at the side of the table.</p><p>“It does not matter what I get since we’re splitting the bill. Besides, it serves the same purpose as the flavored, so what difference does it make?” Scaramouche bit his tongue, hard, to keep from saying anything immediately. Francis’ eyes were on him the whole time, but if he had noticed the wince, he did not say anything. Scaramouche shooed the server bot away, telling him they needed a few more minutes.</p><p>“Please, babe, won’t you reconsider? I’d like to treat since you put up with me for a few days and I’d feel terrible if you didn’t get some sort of flavor. What flavor do you like?” Scaramouche tried gently. He kept a softer smile on his face, void of the usual menace he bestowed upon targets as their last living sight. Francis’ expression never changed.</p><p>“I have no sense of taste.” The blunt answer drew out an automatic “what?” from Scaramouche. Francis shrugged before explaining further. “My creator didn’t see a reason to include it when building me. He said it served no purpose.” Scaramouche nearly let his jaw drop.</p><p>“No … purpose?” It came out dumbfounded before the disgust finally kicked in. “Babe, that’s such an enjoyable feature and your creator just neglected to install that? What, was he without taste and wanted you to suffer? How could he not realize how fantastic it is?” Francis only shrugged in response to the questions. They sat in a deadlock until the server bot timidly rolled back over. Scaramouche reluctantly stated the old order was correct, but the bill was to go to him. He was almost relieved Francis did not put up a fuss.</p><p>“Why not get it fixed, babe? Or are you still employed by your creator?” Scaramouche instantly felt his spirits sink at the thought. If he was still employed, then he had certainly messed up Francis’ schedule by tagging along and was sure Francis was not capable of standing up for himself.</p><p>“It’s not an option,” Francis answered, “and I am no longer employed by my creator.” Scaramouche sighed at the announcement although it took most of his willpower to not offer to pay. Money did seem to be an issue with this bot, so he presumed the funding was not there. Maybe next time he saw him, he would offer.</p><p>The thought even surprised Scaramouche. They dined in near silence, except Scaramouche still felt like there was more to the situation. He wanted more. He still wanted to get to know the handsome bounty hunter before him.</p><p>Francis attempted to ping Scaramouche the money for his portion when the bill arrived. He refused it, then refused it a second time with a  verbal hint.</p><p>“It’s on me, babe. I’ve certainly done enough damage for a few days. Take care, babe!” Francis gave him a nod and thanked him before he rose from his seat and left. He never turned back as he walked towards the less expensive side of town. Scaramouche rested his chin on clasped hands as he watched him go. A part of him had wanted to beg Francis to spend the night with him, maybe share a drink, but he let him go. Besides, he could track him down later and he fully intended to if he really could not get him out of his mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2:</p><p>And it was too easy to track down the bounty hunter again. Scaramouche had not even needed to consult the higher powers to call in another favor. The decision as to whether or not he should look for Francis again had been much more difficult.</p><p>As he had anticipated, he could not shake the thought of Francis. The bot certainly was … difficult. Except he could not stop thinking about him as he tracked his targets and decimated what was supposedly a rebel base (along with a good bit of the area around it). He could not name exactly what called him back. He only knew he wanted to talk to the bot, to actually talk with him, and get to know him to see if he was worth pursuing. A pretty face was one thing, but Scaramouche hardly wanted to waste his time if there really was no personality behind that uncaring façade.</p><p>Scaramouche made sure to wait until after Francis had finished his hunt and certainly did not make any indication he was after the kill. Well, capture this time. Francis had quite intricately tied up his target and threw them over his shoulder.</p><p>“Taking the deadweight in, babe?” Scaramouche arched an eye at him.</p><p>“Oui. They are a mere thief.” Scaramouche checked the reward again. There was little difference from bringing in the target alive. It would have likely been more efficient to kill them and hunt another target.</p><p>“Hope you don’t mind if I tag along, babe.”</p><p>“That’s fine.” Scaramouche rolled his eyes as he fell into step behind Francis. So far, so bad. He pressed him on what he had been up to in the month since they had last met, what targets he had taken in, had he done literally anything that was not work related, and so on. To be fair, Scaramouche would provide answers to his own questions since Francis seemed to not be inclined to ask and to keep the mostly one-sided conversation going. Francis dropped off his target and collected the reward. He headed back towards the forest without a complaint that Scaramouche was still following him.</p><p>“Do you feel <em>anything</em>, babe?” Scaramouche had been trying to evoke anything other than just the flat answer for the better part of three hours as the hours grew late. He had been watching the unchanging blues eyes that stared back at him and was seeing nothing.</p><p>“Not really. My emotion chip has been corrupted.” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes as he regarded Francis. That would explain a lot.</p><p>“Something <em>else</em> not worth fixing, babe?”</p><p>“It’s not practical to get it fixed. I can work just fine without it. I don’t really remember what it was like when it was working. It’s like when you’re in pain, and try to recall the exact pain years later once it has gone. There’s just little there.”</p><p>“That just seems so … boring, babe! To go through life and not feel anything. Why bother …” he cut himself off. That was cruel and he did not want to go there. Francis had done nothing to deserve that level of cruelty.</p><p>“What if I offered to have it replaced for you, babe? No strings attached!” Scaramouche beamed, knowing the glow off his own eyes would reflect the wide grin. The eyes remained glued to him. Scaramouche locked on to them, waiting for any sort of … anything to click, even if it was purely on the logical side of processing. Even that seemed null as Francis spoke again.</p><p>“I don’t think I have the resources to offer you.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean, babe?”</p><p>“If I’m helping someone, they want my skills, money, time, or some other service. I’m unsure of what you want from me or if I can provide what you want.” Scaramouche had no trouble letting the confusion show through. The smile was gone as he pondered over what Francis had meant and why he so suddenly changed the subject.</p><p>“So what, you just … let everyone take advantage of you? You don’t seem to care, babe,” Scaramouche pressed.</p><p>“I only help within my means.” That was impossible to verify and still left Scaramouche in the dark. To be fair, <em>he</em> was also unsure of what he wanted from Francis and could not respond to the earlier statement. Did he want to pursue this knowing Francis could not feel emotions? Did he want some sign there was a personality even if devoid of the usual quirks of emotion? Well, he could go for a straight answer.</p><p>“I like you, babe. I want to get to know you better,” he beamed. The liking part was still debatable at the moment, but that was originally why he had pursued him. Might as well see where it got him anyway.</p><p>“I can’t offer you emotional intimacy. I can’t love you like someone with a functioning emotion chip.” Scaramouche nodded at that. He did at the very least appreciate his honesty.</p><p>“Do you want to date, babe?” A shrug was hardly the answer Scaramouche wanted. It must have taken Francis a few more moments to decide on a verbal answer.</p><p>“I’m not seeing anyone, so that’s fine by me. I won’t care if you decide it’s not working.”</p><p>“And what about you, babe?” Scaramouche leaned forward, wanting to be a bit threatening to get his point across. “What if it’s not working for you?”</p><p>“If you take advantage of me or attempt to abuse me, I will leave.”</p><p>“Would you really, babe?” Scaramouche mused. He received a nod, except Scaramouche knew words were empty. He had received so many empty promises in the past and he would have to see it to believe it with this bot. Scaramouche took the first shift again, although he got little recharge during Francis’ shift. As he had feared, nothing had really changed between them. Answers were the same and reactions were minimal at best, even when the teasing was borderline vicious. He was very tempted to go too far just to see if Francis would leave. It would not be too much of a loss at this point. Besides, if Francis left on his own free will, maybe it would help him get over this bot. He would give him a few more days and if Scaramouche could find no reason to stay, he would break it off.</p><p>There was a flutter of movement as they hunted the next day. They both caught sight of the fleeing woman. A quick scan revealed she did have a bounty on her head, albeit small.</p><p>“Want to make some quick cash, babe?” Scaramouche sneered as he drew out his sword. They could take her down probably in two minutes flat.</p><p>“Non.” Scaramouche nearly sliced his thumb on his dagger as he was pulling it out.</p><p>“No? Why not, babe?”</p><p>“She’s stolen groceries only to survive. We will let her go.” Francis gave a nod and the woman took off.</p><p>“And what if <em>I</em> decide to go after her, babe?” The smirk was carefully neutral, making it impossible to tell if he was seriously considering the matter or not.</p><p>“Then I’ll stop you.” Francis stood firm although the slight movement of his hands itching to go for his swords was not lost. Scaramouche’s grin curled into something sinister as he let his own hand inch towards his swords.</p><p>Scaramouche prided himself on having a quick draw. Francis was hardly a fraction of a second behind him, fending off the sword as Scaramouche began to sing. Scaramouche had to remind himself to focus on the fight at hand and not marvel over how quickly Francis fell into the rhythm. He had not needed to pull out his fancy tactics when they had been co-hunting, yet Francis kept up just fine.</p><p>The dagger halves stayed closed together when he found himself needing to draw it. He had jumped and dove out of the way as Francis closed in on him while fending off the levitating sword. Now he pressed into the attacks, halting Francis’ advance. It was almost unnerving to see the same blank look as always. The look of fear was usually present on his enemies by this point.</p><p>Francis managed to fend both off. He kept his stance wide, batting the levitating sword away with his left hand while dueling with Scaramouche. Scaramouche let out a laugh as he managed to twist his dagger and knock Francis’ right sword away. Francis spun way from the close combat to draw his dagger before Scaramouche was on him again.</p><p>There was a cry of pain as the levitating sword glanced off Francis’ left shoulder. The sword was wrenched of his hands followed shortly by the dagger. Scaramouche swept his feet out from under him. His dagger tip pressed dangerously at Francis’ throat.</p><p>“I suppose after all that, she’s gotten away, hmm, babe?” Scaramouche chuckled, finally putting his dagger away. He pulled Francis up to his feet, and began brushing the dirt from his hat and clothes. “Gotta admit, babe, I didn’t think you had it in you!” he praised as he helped Francis collect his weapons.</p><p>“I had assumed it was a test,” Francis stated bluntly, accepting his sword back.</p><p>“And if it wasn’t, babe?”</p><p>“Then I would be dead.” Scaramouche grinned at him as they headed out in search of a new target. As much as this bot drove him up a tree, he was finally starting to see more things he liked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3:</p><p>The small rock bounced off the trunk of the tree, ricocheted off of the boulder next to the tree and landed perfectly where it had started. Again. Maybe the tenth time in a row now. A glance over his shoulder convinced him <em>no</em> progress had been made. Francis was still standing at the base of the tree and staring up intently. He was talking softly. Scaramouche could have listened in, could actually very easily hear what he was saying and was actively ignoring it. He kicked the rock again, purposefully too hard, and let it disappear into the undergrowth.</p><p>Turning his back to Francis, he wandered deeper into the woods until the words were more indistinguishable. If he had any desire to put effort into it, he still could make them out. Instead, he plopped down onto the cleanest looking service he could find and pulled out his flute. Too much annoyance coursed through him to dare to play a song. Francis did not seem to want to return to bounty hunting until he accomplished his self-appointed task of coaxing the child out of the tree. Scaramouche presence had only made it take longer and certainly rocks flying around haphazardly would only draw this out even more. Instead, he began taking it apart to clean it.</p><p>He frowned at the fact he could have likely taken out the target and gotten back before Francis had finished. He had been pacing restlessly for nearly an hour, wondering why he had even waited. Perhaps he had only thought Francis would spend a few minutes with the stubborn child before moving on. He had no idea why Francis had even bothered in the first place. The child had hit Francis with the pieces of branch and fist sized acorns, threatening them for some Aku-knows-why reason. Scaramouche had thought better of sending his sword up. If Francis had been so keen to let the petty thief go a few days prior, Scaramouche suspected he would not take kindly to stabbing a kid with no bounty on their head.</p><p>It took a while for Scaramouche to realize the voices had stopped. He finished up with his flute, reassembled it, and tucked it away into his coat. The soft sounds of crying could be detected when he really focused on it, and a malicious smirk crossed his face. Good. The kid deserved it anyway.</p><p>Still, he kept his face as carefully neutral as Francis’ expression always was when he crossed back into their view. The child was pressed against Francis’ side, sobbing against his shoulder as they both sat in the ground. Francis carefully cleaned and wrapped an injury on the child’s arm. Scaramouche pondered why Francis bothered carrying anything for organics in his kit. It was convenient he had it, he supposed.</p><p>“We should take xem back to town,” Francis stated once he had coaxed the child back to xir feet. Scaramouche arched an eye at him in question. That was going to easily be a three-hour diversion and it would be getting dark by then.</p><p>“You’re serious, babe?” And the child curled closer to Francis’ side. Xe was only ten or eleven and Scaramouche knew he could be intimidating. It was usually how it was supposed to be. Had it been a parent hugging the child close, Scaramouche would have expected a glare. Francis nodded.</p><p>“Oui. Xe is lost and far from home.” Scaramouche bit his tongue before he said anything he might regret and nodded, gesturing for Francis to lead the way. He could have scooped the kid up and ran to cut off at least an hour. He could also just go out and bounty hunt himself and meet up with Francis later.</p><p>In the end, he tagged along at a distance because he wanted to see how this was playing out. For someone who supposedly could not feel anything, Francis certainly seemed to care a lot about others. He would have preferred to walk closer to Francis, but the child kept glancing over and looking like xe would bolt and Scaramouche did not want to wait another hour for Francis to coax xem to come along with him again.</p><p>Within an hour, Scaramouche began hearing shouts. Scaramouche steered them in the direction of the search party. He hung back again as Francis went to hand off the child. Musing that Francis still held the blank expression even when the guns was pointed at him before everything was sorted out, Scaramouche leaned against a tree, plastering a sinister grin on his face for when they paid him any attention. The child’s parent or caretaker, Scaramouche hardly cared what, threw her arms around Francis. The search party backed away as Francis turned and headed back.</p><p>“What, no hero’s parade or reward? Not even dinner, babe?” Scaramouche smirked.</p><p>“She was worried about xem.”</p><p>“Well, she should have at least compensated you for your time, babe,” Scaramouche spat. “And just when I thought you did stand up for yourself… Maybe I should go ask for something, hm? Gotta make up for all the time <em>I</em> was idle.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to wait.”</p><p>“Ah, but we’re dating, babe! I can’t just leave you to be battered by acorns, now can I? Besides, when I get work again, I’ll be away for a while, so might as well enjoy this time with you. Why’d you waste so much time with xem anyway?”</p><p>“It was the right thing to do.”</p><p>“And it would have been the right thing to reward you, babe, but you’re still not going to make a fuss are you?”</p><p>“There was no reward posted for xir return.” Scaramouche merely shook his head. He still could not see the reasoning behind it, although if this was a normal thing for the bot, it was no wonder he was hurting for cash. It was none of Francis’ business to stop. How would he have even known the child was missing if a reward was not posted? Yet, he had stopped to talk to xem almost at once when he was attacked. As if he knew?</p><p>“We ought to skip hunting today and start looking for shelter. There’s a storm coming, and I for one, don’t want to be wet, babe,” Scaramouche stated. “At least, not that way.” Once he had a nod of acceptance, he pressed on in his questioning. They did not have to keep silent and track a target if they were done for the night.</p><p>“How’d you know the kid needed help, babe?”</p><p>“Xe looked scared, so I knew something was wrong.”</p><p>“Thought you couldn’t feel anything, babe,” Scaramouche responded. He glanced over at his tag team partner, letting his eyes trail down to the hand hanging loosely at his side. There was hardly a doubt Francis would not complain if he just took it in his hand. They were technically dating.</p><p>“That’s correct. I have been trained in reading facial expressions and body language. I can recognize it even though I cannot feel it myself. I cannot empathize and can only work on past experience.” As expected, Francis said nothing as Scaramouche leaned down and took his left hand in his. The hand hung limp in Scaramouche’s hand for half a minute until he finally returned the grip with an equal force.</p><p>“So you knew how I was feeling the whole time we’ve spent together, babe?”</p><p>“Oui. That’s why I was confused. You were mostly annoyed, frustrated, or angry. You should have either stopped associating or taken it out on me and you did neither.” Scaramouche arched an eye at him, yet said nothing. He had nailed the feelings part, although seemed to overlook that Scaramouche <em>had</em> taken it out on him. He had said some rather nasty things he had regretted after the fact, although never found the need to apologize since he figured at the time it had not affected Francis. It probably had not, but he should have apologized nevertheless.</p><p>“Well, I didn’t understand you, babe. Still don’t. You have a … unique way of doing things,” Scaramouche settled on as he spotted a lean to shelter someone had constructed at some point. It was in need of some repairs, but it would do to weather the night. He pulled Francis over and they got to work patching the roof and walls as the dark clouds gathered. They settled into the close quarters as the clouds let loose a torrent of rain.</p><p>They sat side by side in silence for a while. Scaramouche tapped out a silent tune on his leg. He had far too much energy from having to call it a day early on top of the fact they had hardly done anything all day.</p><p>“You’re bored.” Scaramouche nodded, turning his attention to Francis who sat much closer than usual due to the smaller structure. He was rather looking forward to how they were going to work sleeping arrangements, although he supposed whoever was taking the shift could sit at the end of the makeshift bed.</p><p>“Yeah. You have something in mind, babe?” Francis shrugged, but Scaramouche waited a moment to see if he would speak again.</p><p>“I am assuming you want to do more than just give us a label.” The blank eyes were turned towards him. There was no further indication of how far Francis anticipated it would go as far as Scaramouche could tell.</p><p>“Sure, babe. If you’re willing.” When all he received was a nod, Scaramouche realized he probably should spell out what he meant, especially since he wanted more specific consent than just a nod to a vague statement. “I was thinking about making out. Do you want to, babe?”</p><p>“We can if you want to.” The corner of Scaramouche’s mouth twitched.</p><p>“I do, but do you want to, babe?”</p><p>“I won’t object.” Scaramouche’s softer smile had melted away. They sat staring at each other until Francis spoke again. “Do you want to make out?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’d like to, babe but do – mmph?” Scaramouche’s hands instinctively came up as if to push Francis away before he forced them back down. He stopped involuntarily trying to pull away from the hand on his chin and pressed into the lips against his. At once, Francis opened his mouth for him.</p><p>Scaramouche hesitated. For someone who had shown very little interest in the relationship – and by now Scaramouche knew this bot at least cared about things considering how hard he had fought to stop Scaramouche from tracking the petty thief and how much time he spent working with the child – Francis was certainly moving fast. Maybe it was because he was French, Scaramouche mused before returning the gesture.</p><p>Tracing Francis’ lower lip with his tongue, he finally remembered to move and brought his hand up to cup the back of Francis’ head. He slotted their mouths together and easily met Francis’ movements and pace. A sigh escaped him as Francis’ fingers trailed gingerly down his throat. They traced along the top of the scarf before sliding back up the back of his neck. A shutter went through Scaramouche’s core as the fingers tracing the seams were gently electrified.</p><p>Scaramouche was the first to pull away. He pressed a soft kiss in apology to the slight noise of confusion.</p><p>“Please, babe,” his lips brushed against Francis’ again. “I want you to take the lead. I’m yours, babe.” Gently pulling at Francis, he let out a soft moan as Francis took the hint and straddled his lap. The smaller bot wasted no time leaning back in, pressing down into Scaramouche’s lips now that he was above him.</p><p>It took Scaramouche a moment to realize he was again forgetting to reciprocate. He was so mesmerized by the fact Francis was actively doing something with him, so willingly in fact, he had just been putty below him. He slid his hands back up Francis’ back to pull him close. Another moan was breathed into Francis’ mouth as he realized the other bot had been rather quiet. It was Scaramouche’s own fault. He should be putting in at least matching effort.</p><p>Scaramouche let a light charge flow through his tongue before taking a bit of control back. The sparks danced between their tongues as Francis did the same. Still, the smaller bot pressed in more, deepening it again. Although he would have liked to keep it a little slower and sensual, Scaramouche reminded himself he had asked Francis to lead. Really, he had just wanted the other bot to feel comfortable, especially since it had been so hard to get a clear yes or no answer out of him.</p><p>The soft noises Scaramouche had been making were interrupted as Francis’ body jerked forward. A note of confusion left Scaramouche’s lips. His suspicion was confirmed when Francis’ hips ground against his abdomen again. He was surprised that Francis had hooked up an attachment. It was rare for Scaramouche to carry one with him when he was out on a mission or hunting, and surprised Francis had one with him, let alone already hooked his up. They had not had time between finding the shelter and patching it up. Honestly, they had not been apart long enough for Francis to privately install it, which must mean he had been wearing it to hunt the entire day.</p><p>So Francis was a bit kinky, Scaramouche mused, letting his hands slide down Francis’ sides to hold his hips in place. It was quite an interesting turn of events, yet he was not quite ready to dive into the territory. Consent for making out was dubious, and he was not going further unless he got a decisive “oui, I want to do this” from Francis. Francis’ body still seemed to be trying to go through a routine. His hips jerked in Scaramouche’s grasp as he kissed down at him harder. Scaramouche finally pulled back again, a disappointed sigh on his own lips, but he needed to speak.</p><p>“No further than this, please, babe,” Scaramouche insisted, rubbing their noses together. “I’d like to take you on at least one proper date first, and lunch the first time we met up does not count!”</p><p>“Okay,” and Francis pulled back. Scaramouche pouted, about to insist he had not meant for them to stop when Francis ducked down and kissed at the underside of his jaw. The lips moved down to his throat and Scaramouche’s hands clawed at Francis’ shirt at the first hint of electricity along his seams. He gasped again, feeling the steam build up as Francis easily found and worked the most sensitive seams.</p><p>Scaramouche’s own fingers were exploring the bot’s neck and back, yet nowhere he stroked seemed to produce any sort of sound like Francis was wringing from him. He could not help but take the opportunity to let one hand run through Francis’ hair. Giving the strands a firm tug, he received more of a questioning noise than one of pleasure.</p><p>Francis backed away and studied him with the blank expression and it sobered Scaramouche up.</p><p>“I uh … just trying to … figure out what you liked, babe. I’ve got a background in music and an ear for the slight hint of noise. Can’t seem to draw out any beautiful moans, babe, or do what you like,” Scaramouche insisted sheepishly. His fans clicked on a notch higher to cool him down now that they had taken a break.</p><p>“I’m better seen and not heard,” Francis stated. Scaramouche made a noise of protest, yet could not speak as Francis went back to his work. He mouthed at the spot he was working earlier, causing a static build up in Scaramouche’s throat as he tried to protest the statement. The words kept coming out jumbled as he tried to ask what Francis had meant, tried to beg him to make some sort of noise because it would be music to his ears. Even Francis’ name was a static spluttering of letters.</p><p>So Scaramouche crushed the body against his, feeling Francis squirm as he continued attacking Scaramouche’s neck with his phenomenal mouth. Scaramouche could feel the charge building up under his plates as the attachment was pressed against him again. Another long lick against the sensitive seam had him moaning out before the lips were back against his.</p><p>As heavy steam rolled off his body, Scaramouche found himself trying less and less to keep up. He prided himself on usually being a good kisser. Next time, he swore, he would get Francis steaming … if the bot wanted to do this again. He was not quite sure how he would convince Francis to let loose and be as loud and unguarded as he wanted, but that was an issue for future him. It seemed Francis could read him perfectly and slowed his own pace to match Scaramouche’s motions. There was another twitch of Francis’ hips before he pulled away and apologized.</p><p>“You’re amazing, babe,” Scaramouche purred at the lull, static still tinging his words. He took the opportunity to  run his fingers through Francis’ hair again and cup the back of his head before pressing fleeting kisses to the other bot’s neck. He tried to ignore the fact that Francis’ fans were going only half the speed of his and he was nowhere near steaming. “Anyone ever tell you that?” He felt the shrug rather than saw it and tried not to frown as he mouthed at the neck harder.</p><p>“Then they were absolute idiots if they could not see how wonderful you are, baby,” Scaramouche insisted, planting one last kiss on the underside of Francis’ jaw. He pulled back, trying to wipe the shock off of his face quickly as he saw the usual deadpan look. With a soft smile, he stroked his fingers along Francis’ cheek. There was no other movement from Francis.</p><p>“Bedtime, babe?”</p><p>“Oui. I’ll take the first shift tonight.” A noise of disappointment came from Scaramouche’s lips before he could stop himself as Francis moved from his lap. “What’s wrong? You are tired.”</p><p>“Nothing, babe. Just …” he shrugged, flashing his toothy grin. He already missed Francis’ warmth as the bot moved to sit towards the foot of the makeshift bed and stare out into the night. Scaramouche laid down and stretched before bending his knees slightly to keep his feet from hanging off the side. He gingerly pressed his shins against Francis. At once, Francis slid away and sat on the ground.</p><p>“Come back, babe,” Scaramouche pleaded, perhaps a bit too desperately. “I wasn’t kicking you off the bed. I just like knowing you’re there.” Francis did not move for a moment, and Scaramouche was about to apologize when he finally returned, sliding back so that Scaramouche’s legs were resting against him again.</p><p>“Thanks, babe,” Scaramouche murmured, letting his eyes turn off. It would not be long before the need for recharge overtook him. The only thing preventing it at the moment was the over abundance of new information about the bot his processors were trying to organize.</p><p>Francis clearly had experience with others. It was rude of him, but Scaramouche had already pegged Francis as someone who had never dated before or even been with someone else. Perhaps it was just the emotion chip thing again. It was something Scaramouche had never encountered before.</p><p>Not to mention that he had never met someone who bounty hunted with a toy hooked up! Scaramouche would have worried Francis could not feel physical arousal, except he had been coming on to him quite strongly. They would explore that side sometime after they spent more time together, Scaramouche decided. He drifted into stasis musing as to where he would take Francis on a proper date.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 4:</p><p>                “Mm, I’ll have to return to my regularly scheduled assassination duties in a couple of days, babe,” Scaramouche murmured against Francis’ neck. He resumed kissing at the seams as Francis affirmed in a clear voice. They only had five days together on this meetup, yet every night of the first three had been incredible in Scaramouche’s opinion. He had yet to get Francis steaming on any of their meetups in the last couple of months. It did not stop him from trying though. He rather enjoyed how long he could just make out with Francis as there had not been a partner before Francis that could or was willing to go as long. Even if there was no emotion before or after the session , and Francis kissed with his eyes open (Scaramouche had found that out one day when he opened his eyes on a whim, having to kiss back even harder to hide his shock), it was pleasant. Scaramouche was enjoying their relatively frequent hook ups.</p><p>                “Anything special we should do, babe?” he added, teasingly pressing down against Francis’ hips. The legs wrapped around his middle tightened as if to hold him in place for a moment.</p><p>                “We can if you want,” Francis stated.</p><p>                “We can do dinner and a movie, too, babe,” Scaramouche half suggested, half teased. He was ready now to take it further, and it seemed like Francis was willing.  “Although if we want to just skip the romancing, I’d much prefer a bed.” He squirmed in the leg lock, partially to get Francis worked up more, mostly to move higher and kiss at Francis’ lips. “How about we call it quits a couple hours before it gets dark and head back to town, babe? We’ll grab a nice dinner and find a cozy room.”</p><p>                “Okay.” Scaramouche gave him a last kiss before pulling away. Francis released him, sitting up to take the first shift of the night. Scaramouche adjusted and rested his head in Francis’ lap. He turned his eyes off and let himself drift into stasis.</p><p>                They managed to capture a target by the late afternoon. Scaramouche took Francis’ hand as they were leaving the collection center to stop him from heading back to the outskirts of town. He kissed several knuckles, amused by the whistles he got from onlookers. It was oddly strange they drew so much attention. Every time they happened to be in town, it seemed like people would always stare or comment. Scaramouche did not mind, and it seemed like Francis did not either, so he made no move to hide his feelings for the smaller bot.</p><p>                “That’s enough for today, babe. Shall we get started on our plans?” True, it was a few hours earlier than Scaramouche had planned, but he certainly did not mind spending more time in the company of Francis without the restrictions tracking placed on them.</p><p>                “I’ll get a system check first,” Francis stated. Scaramouche arched an eye at him with a tilt of his head.</p><p>                “Seems like a long way to go when an internal malware scan is probably enough, babe,” Scaramouche told him.</p><p>                “It’s been a long time since I’ve had one,” Francis explained flatly. Scaramouche nodded his understanding, and did a GPS search for the nearest (nice) location. Francis allowed himself to be towed along.</p><p>                “Would you like me to get one, too, babe?” He had had one since his last partner and had not done anything that would be dangerous enough to have passive malware. Still, since Francis was insistent, he found it only polite to offer.</p><p>                “You do not have to.” It finally dawned on him that this might be Francis’ version of a nice gesture, as strange and unnecessary as it seemed. The least he could do was graciously accept it. They found the location and made plans to meet out front in an hour. Scaramouche had questioned the timing, as it seemed a center should have the equipment to do the scan faster, yet Francis seemed sure on the time it would take. Scaramouche assumed Francis was just adding a wait time buffer. He leaned down to kiss him before Francis disappeared inside and Scaramouche was left to his own devices.</p><p>                He easily took to the rooftops of the sizeable town. It was quite quaint compared to the cities Scaramouche usually preferred. It did match Francis’ style, as he always seemed to be hunting outside of some small town. Scaramouche had convinced him to do one  hunt in a city on a previous meetup. It was clear Francis had honed his skills for forest hunting, although he did a fair job. It was also just nice to have a bed so they could both recharge at the same time during the night. Well, for most of the night. Francis seemed to be a light sleeper and would be roused if Scaramouche moved, seemingly unable to bypass that programming and drop into a deeper stasis even though they were safe. Or perhaps maybe there was other damage that prevented him from getting a restful night’s sleep. Scaramouche could not imagine that was anything except hell on Francis’ system. Francis at least seemed capable and alert, so he supposed it was fine.</p><p>                After doing a circuit around town, he decided the hotel he marked for their stay seemed to have enough dining options. That would suffice for the time being and meant he could spend more intimate time with Francis in a much more comfortable setting. Finding himself with thirty minutes to kill, he wandered back down to the street level to investigate more of the shops. He was tempted to ask for advice on what to get someone who did not care about anything. Shaking the thought from his head, he browsed through the wares. Perhaps something for relaxation would make a nice gift and indicate how much Scaramouche appreciated Francis going through the effort of getting a check. It could be why the bot did not sleep well. There must have been some sort of stress to cause the emotion chip corruption in the first place and perhaps he was just locked into a stressed state that he could not explain. He finally found a kit that would induce a relaxing current. It cost a pretty penny and would be taxing on his own energy level when they used it. Still, it was a small price to pay if it meant he could do something nice for Francis. He certainly owed it to the bot.</p><p>                He returned to the testing center a few minutes before they were to meet up, just in case Francis had finished early. He ended up pacing restlessly before Francis finally emerged a few minutes after the scheduled time.</p><p>                “Long line, babe?” Scaramouche asked and he bounded towards Francis. Before Francis could answer, he tilted Francis chin up to lean down and kiss him solidly on the lips. The whistles were much louder than usual.</p><p>                “Non. They got me in right away. I have the results when you want them.”</p><p>                “You can just tell me, babe,” Scaramouche smiled at him as he took his hand and began guiding him back to the hotel. He jolted as Francis pinged him the results rather than just said whether or not he had contracted malware. Accepting the document, he stopped dead in his tracks when he  began viewing the report.</p><p>                “Babe, what the hell is this?” His mouth twitched dangerously as he whirled to face Francis. If it had been someone else, maybe he could have passed it off as a bad joke. Coming from Francis, he could find nothing funny about the bold “New Owner Report” that titled the document Francis had sent.</p><p>                “The results from the test. I requested the more detailed testing and history procedure so you would have all of the information.”</p><p>                “I thought you were just checking for issues, babe? This is …” he skimmed through the results, feeling his fans click on to a high speed as he read some of the results. There were the standard malware and virus check, but far more details than Scaramouche ever wanted to know. Listed was information on previous port damage, the current functionality, size of the port and attachment (which was permanent? That was … he could not think on that now), and everything …</p><p>                It was everything a buyer of a non-sentient bot would want to know. Except, Francis was not … was he? No. Scaramouche was sure he was sentient. He did care about a very small handful of things. He could think. He was capable of feeling physical pain. He was … He was …</p><p>                Scaramouche pressed his free hand to his mouth. He was going to be sick, and this bot was just standing and staring at him blankly. Swallowing hard, Scaramouche reset his eyes for a moment to just focus on his fans and let them catch up.</p><p>                “W-why did you think I wanted all of this information, babe?” Scaramouche tried to keep his voice calm and even. He knew the rest of his expression was rapidly going from confusion to disgust to a hint of anger. “I don’t … I don’t want … I don’t own you.” The words tasted foul on his lips.</p><p>                “I know. No one does anymore. Most who spend time with me want the information and you had not asked yet.” Of course he had not asked. He would never have even thought to ask about any of this and was wondering just who Francis hung around with. And the ‘anymore’ part threw him.</p><p>                “I’m very confused, babe,” he admitted. “Why … how would someone know to just ask?”</p><p>                “Because of my build.” Francis continued to study Scaramouche as Scaramouche tilted his head. The confusion must have registered because Francis added on in the same flat tone as always.</p><p>                “I was built to be a sex bot.” Scaramouche released the hand he had been holding likely too tight and his arm swung limply to his side.</p><p>                “I found a hotel where we can stay,” Scaramouche stated hollowly once he found his voice. Even that held a meaning he had not considered before. “Let’s call a cab. I’m not up for walking.” Scaramouche took a few steps closer to the nearest building and leaned heavily against it. Francis followed after a moment of hesitation.</p><p>                “Do you want me to go away?” he asked bluntly.</p><p>                “No. No, babe I … no.” He could hardly figure out what he wanted to say. Instead, he pulled Francis into a tight hug, wanting Francis’ warmth pressed against him. The arms eventually wrapped around his own waist.</p><p>                “I want to spend time with you, babe,” Scaramouche whispered into the top of his head. He could not focus on any of the strange looks or comments thrown his way, which were starting to make a lot more sense now. “I’m very … overwhelmed with the information. Let’s get to a room and talk.”</p><p>                Scaramouche hailed a cab and plopped down in his seat. He let his eyes shut off and before he knew it, Francis was on his side opening the door and taking his hand. He let the smaller bot tug him in the direction of the receptionist’s desk, hating the thought that this was all a mechanical response for Francis. Probably like kissing and so many other things.</p><p>                “How many beds would you like, sir?” He could feel the stares of everyone in the lobby and knew what they were thinking. Try as he might, he could not tune out what they were saying and his fingers tightened in Francis’ grasp.</p><p>                “How many beds, sir?” Even the staff knew. Everyone seemed to know, except him. He had no idea.</p><p>                “Sir!” Scaramouche blinked, making a noise of confusion.</p><p>                “The number of beds,” Francis prompted quietly.</p><p>                “I uh … two,” he fumbled with the words. At the questioning look he received, he snapped. “Ya got a problem with that, babe?” He transferred the credits and took the room keys, pressing one into Francis’ free hand before letting Francis guide him to the elevator.</p><p>                He sank heavily onto the bed nearest the door. A part of him wanted to drop into stasis right there and deal with this later. Another part wanted to hold Francis tight and will him to be happy. The way he talked about his past just was not rubbing him right. It was not so much the fact of what he had originally been built to do, and more of how he said it. Not being owned <em>anymore</em>, everyone knowing and wanting him for a service only, no one wanting to actually listen to him. Not to mention he could not shake the feeling that Francis was unfaithful. Perhaps he would not have minded so much if they talked about it and settled on having an open relationship. He would have been fine with that, and just assumed Francis would only be seeing him since they were formally dating. Finally glancing up, he noted Francis had claimed the second bed, and sat on the side watching him.</p><p>                “Alright, babe. Pretend I am a complete idiot living under a rock and tell me anything I might have overlooked about you or anything you think I should have realized.” His smile bordered on being grimace.</p><p>                “You’re not,” Francis stated before pausing to consider his thoughts. Scaramouche found himself barking a laugh at the unintentional compliment he had received.</p><p>                “For my sake, just pretend I am, babe. I had absolutely no idea of your intended purpose, so maybe I am.”</p><p>                “I was built to be a sex bot. My creator would rent me out to clients or multiple clients for the night. When I left, I decided to become a bounty hunter because I had few skills and a disposition no one wanted to be around. I taught myself or traded my services for lessons. Anything you want to know about my ports or attachment is in the file I sent.”</p><p>                “And everyone that sees you knows what you were built to … your original purpose? Well, everyone, but me, babe.” Francis nodded. Scaramouche was having a hard time seeing that since Francis was quite unique. He had never seen a bot so realistically human-like. The hair, the shape, everything down to the breathing mimicry had been a one of the kind thing. It was true he had not really paid attention to other pleasure bots, having not felt like contracting one. He wanted a relationship, not a one-night stand.</p><p>                “So then … you think I’m a client, babe? Do you treat me like one?”</p><p>                “Non. You are not a client. I do not provide that report to clients unless they pay for the time it takes and the report itself. It was for you since I was not sure why you were not asking for the information.” That was hardly reassuring, although he was not sure he wanted to ask what Francis considered him. It could wait. It would have to wait, because he was not sure he could handle the answer.</p><p>                “Have you – I hate asking, babe – seen or been seeing anyone since we…?” Scaramouche watched him hopefully. He was going to make sure he did not get mad, because that was unfair to the bot, even if he feeling overwhelmed. Whatever the answer –</p><p>                “Non. I figured you would want me to be exclusive to you.” Scaramouche let out a noise half way between a laugh and a sigh. Why is it that every conversation with this bot was constantly a surprise?</p><p>                “Let’s start there, babe, because my head is spinning and that seems easiest. I am okay if you want to engage in sexual activities with someone else; however, I’d rather you break up with me if you want to date someone else. Sound good?”</p><p>                “I would rather not participate in that unless it is with you or I am in dire need of money.” Scaramouche’s eyes widened at this only because it was the first time Francis had ever explicitly hinted he wanted or did not want something.</p><p>                “Works for me, babe. I prefer only one partner and I can wait between meetups to get back with you,” Scaramouche beamed. The shock from earlier was finally diminishing. Until another thought struck.</p><p>                “I uh, know this is a personal question, babe, but can you … feel the physical pleasure? I know there’s no emotion behind it and I … well, could feel you,” he asked softly. It was not going to sit with him at all if Francis’ body was merely just following a program installed in him rather than deriving some sort of enjoyment. Making out with him would also feel terrible if he said no.</p><p>                “Oui, I can. If my creator could have built me without that feature, he would have.” A mix of relief and disgust washed over him at once, and he wished it would neutralize out so he would feel nothing like Francis in moments like this.</p><p>                “Your creator was a real scum bag. You know that, babe? The only good thing he did was build a very talented and very handsome bot,” Scaramouche added, nodding towards Francis.</p><p>                “He’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>                “Good, ‘cause if he wasn’t, I’d make sure he was, babe!” Scaramouche relaxed back on the bed now. It was still a lot to take in. He expunged the file Francis sent from his memory banks so he was not tempted to send himself spiraling back into despair. After a few minutes, he looked back over, realizing he had not heard a sound from Francis. He was still sitting in the exact same position.</p><p>                “Listen, babe. I’m not … I don’t think I’m up for sex tonight. That okay with you?” He received a nod, for what it was worth. “I propose we get some room service, I can sync up some music, we can make out a bit, and call it a night. Then … let’s see what the morning brings! Work for you, babe?” Another nod was granted.</p><p>                “May I pay for dinner?” Scaramouche’s eyes darted over from the menu. Biting down the initial protest, he gave in easily tonight. There was usually the offer to split costs for food. Scaramouche was fairly certain he had convinced Francis that he was going to be covering hotel costs since he was the one insisting on staying in nicer places than he figured Francis would and should thus be responsible for the bill. Scaramouche affirmed, passing him the menu and telling him what he wanted. It was also nice to be pampered and he was hoping Francis was honest about only doing things for others within his means. Dinner was quiet, save for the soft music Scaramouche put on in the background.</p><p>                “Oh, I gotcha something, babe!” Scaramouche’s eyes lit up as he caught sight of the bag he had evidently dropped on the floor in his daze.</p><p>                “Why?” Scaramouche blinked as he pressed the relaxation kit towards Francis.</p><p>                “Because I … wanted to thank you for going above and beyond with the check, babe!” he recovered from the shock and beamed at Francis as he cleared their dishes away.</p><p>                “That’s more of a standard thing.”</p><p>                “Well, then maybe I just wanted to get you a gift, babe!” Scaramouche insisted, the smile strained. He had rather been expecting Francis to quietly accept it. Still, he reminded himself to not get angry because maybe it was just a quirk Francis had.</p><p>                “You can return it if you want.” Francis offered it back. “You don’t have to waste money on me.”</p><p>                “Babe, it’s not wasting if it’s something you might enjoy. Try it out at least!” Scaramouche gently pushed the gift back to him. Finally, Francis nodded. He placed it on the bedside table between them and looked back at Scaramouche expectantly. Scaramouche mused that he had promised him some entertainment and smiled warmly as he shrugged out of his coat and placed his hat off to the side.</p><p>                “I’m yours, babe.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 5:</p><p>                Scaramouche almost wished he had asked Francis to use the relaxation kit on him. It had been enough of a hassle to encourage Francis to let Scaramouche treat him to it. Besides, it was a gift <em>for</em> Francis.</p><p>                Scaramouche had figured he would drop into a deep stasis once his head hit the pillow. The drain from the kit had been more than he expected, plus Francis had all but gotten him to sing as he kissed and licked at his neck. It was equally as wonderful to return the favor and admire his gorgeous chest. He considered himself lucky Francis had opted to sleep without the shirt since he found his eyes drifting over the soft curves when he could not will himself to sleep.</p><p>                 He shifted slightly and repositioned his head on the pillow. Easing closer, he let one leg drape over Francis’ legs. It took another few movements to realize how deep Francis was. The smaller bot never stirred. Taking the hand gently off of Francis’ chest, he stroked down the others cheek, lightly caressing along the jaw line. The smaller bot did not move. Scaramouche cuddled even closer, drifting off with the satisfaction Francis finally trusted him enough to go into a deep stasis.</p><p>                When Scaramouche awoke, he jolted at the blank eyes staring at him.</p><p>                “You’d think I would get used to it, babe,” Scaramouche chided before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Francis let out an indecipherable hum, so Scaramouche pressed their lips together. It was not long before he was on top of the bot, feeling Francis squirm and involuntarily press up into him. Francis still kept pace with him easily. Before Scaramouche let himself get to the point of needing his fans, he pulled away.</p><p>                “What do ya say, babe? Can we take this all the way?”</p><p>                “Oui. We can,” Francis answered, receiving a quick kiss on the nose. Scaramouche smiled down at him before Francis added, “You can be as rough as you want.”</p><p>                Scaramouche blinked at the comment. He was satisfied the usual trick of asking “Can we” versus “do you want” had worked, but the last part stopped him.</p><p>                “I don’t want to hurt you, babe,” Scaramouche insisted, leaning down to gently rub their noses together.</p><p>                “You would have to be trying to hurt me.” Right. Right, because this was his specialty. It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he rolled off of him.</p><p>                “Why don’t you take the lead, babe? I have a feeling I won’t be able to keep up and want to make sure you enjoy this, too!” Scaramouche beamed again. Francis nodded, sitting up and pushing the sheets out of the way.</p><p>                “What do you like?”</p><p>                “Slow and sensual, babe. I like to make it last so I can listen to all the delectable sounds my partner makes.” Francis nodded again, yet Scaramouche was not sure the bot really got the message. It was not the first time Scaramouche had encouraged him to be a little louder. The blank eyes trailed along Scaramouche’s body for a moment before moving towards the foot of the bed.</p><p>                “May I get started?”</p><p>                “Sure, babe!” Scaramouche easily lifted his hips as Francis eased his pants off.</p><p>                “Do you want to put on an attachment?”</p><p>                “I prefer it without and don’t usually carry one with me, babe,” Scaramouche explained. There was a hint of unease as Francis merely continued looking his body over. “That’s not a problem, is it, babe?”</p><p>                “Non. It’s has just been a long time I have worked with only a port.” Scaramouche could have been fooled by the response. Francis read his body perfectly, keeping everything delectably slow and sensual. Making it perfect, Scaramouche mused, trying to keep out all of the information from the previous day. Francis wrung out moans impossible to hold in and never needed to be asked to find the perfect position. Taking Scaramouche through the two most intense rounds of his life, Scaramouche found his body cutting out after the second overload.</p><p>                By the time Scaramouche rebooted, Francis was gingerly cleaning him off. A whimper left him as the cloth just grazed his oversensitive port. There was a soft apology as Francis finished up. Scaramouche pouted as Francis went to get up and reached out to him. The smaller bot allowed himself to be pulled back into the weak embrace as Scaramouche cuddled against him. At least Francis’ fans had kicked up on high, Scaramouche sighed in relief. And he was not too shy to ask.</p><p>                “Did you enjoy it too, babe? I blacked out before I could make sure,” he mumbled against the beautiful chest. He kissed at the seams as Francis affirmed he had. Although he was not quite sure he trusted him, he went along with it for now. There was little he could offer as his body wanted nothing more than to drop back into stasis at the early hour.</p><p>                “Can I tempt you in taking the rest of today off, babe? I’m about to pass out on you again after all of that.”</p><p>                “Oui. I had no other plans.”</p><p>                “Mm, good. I love spending time with you, babe,” the words were heavy as he bordered on stasis. Francis shifted to get comfortable before Scaramouche knew nothing else.</p><p>                The figure in his grasp was too soft when he blinked his eyes open. He had his arms curled around the pillows and had been clutching it tight to him.</p><p>                “Francis?” It came out softly as he fully sat up. He glanced about the room and towards the kitchenette. Nothing. He listened, hoping to hear the shower or any other signs of life. Silence. Francis’ clothes and hat were gone, too. There was no note on the bedside table or the main table either. He sat and waited an hour to see if Francis would return.</p><p>                “I suppose you’re just sending me your bill later, babe?” He spat to the empty room. At once, the soft beep sounded as the door was unlocked.</p><p>                “You’re not a client,” Francis stated as he let himself back in the room.</p><p>                “You weren’t here. What was I supposed to think, babe? I thought we were going to spend today together.”</p><p>                “I could not sleep and did not think I could keep quiet,” Francis shrugged after a moment. He took a seat at the table as Scaramouche leveled him with a glare. “I was trying not to disturb you, so I went for a walk. I figured the beep would wake you since your hearing is better than most and waited outside.” Scaramouche opened his mouth before biting back his comment. Instead he let out a blast of hot air to try and calm himself. Francis was just trying to be considerate, he reminded himself, and he had not actually said he wanted to wake up next to him, just spend time with him. He really needed to get better about spelling these things out.</p><p>                “I’m sorry, babe. That was … mean. I shouldn’t have speculated that. Should have just asked where you were,” he tried softly. Francis shrugged it off and Scaramouche decided to drop it. If Francis was not going to be upset, he did not need to be either, but he would  <em>have</em> to do better in the future to not accuse him like that.</p><p>                “I suppose we … <em>I </em>should get dressed and we can get this day started, babe!” Scaramouche beamed, trying to lighten the mood. At least this received more of a nod than the typical shrug. He pulled on his own coat only to swear under his breath.</p><p>                At some point yesterday, he must have worried the button too many times and broken it. They would have to make a pit stop to the nearest cleaners and that would take <em>forever</em>. At least a couple of hours because they always seemed to be backed up even for such a simple fix. Without realizing, Scaramouche had launched into a rant, blinking as Francis spoke.</p><p>                “I can fix it in two minutes if we get supplies. I don’t have purple thread or buttons.”</p><p>                “You can…?” Obviously the bot could sew. He must be making the repairs on his own outfit since Scaramouche doubted he would pay for it. “I uh … I don’t know where we would get supplies, babe,” he mumbled sheepishly.</p><p>                “I can find a place,” Francis stated. Scaramouche tied on his scarf, taking Francis’ hand to stop fiddling with the broken button and gave it three quick squeezes. Francis led them out, head held high even amidst the jeers and catcalls. A part of Scaramouche wanted to demand they stop. Still, it was a day off he wanted to spend with Francis. He could also threaten them on his way out of town. It was small enough he was sure he could find them, and put a mental note on them for later.</p><p>                Francis came to a stop in front of a small store. Scaramouche would have passed it by without a glance and almost ran into the smaller bot. Leading the way inside, Francis scanned the store before heading towards the back corner. Scaramouche ducked under the doorframe, which was just inches too low and followed.</p><p>                “Perfect, babe!” Scaramouche grinned as Francis handed him the replacement buttons. He was lucky that it was a matching shade as there was little variety in the shades of purple buttons. He supposed there were so few and if Francis could repair them that quickly, he could have asked to have them all replaced. He was happy that was not the case. They spent a considerably longer time in front of the racks of different threads as Francis glanced back and forth between the various shades of light purple thread and Scaramouche’s coat.</p><p>                “I can’t tell which one matches,” Francis admitted, moving to the side.</p><p>                “Do your color receptors need a tune up, babe?” Scaramouche teased lightly as he grabbed a roll of thread. Francis shook his head and Scaramouche’s grin faltered as he recalled how stingy his creator had been.</p><p>                “I can see a relatively wide range of colors,” Francis explained, evidently understanding the meaning of Scaramouche’s look. “Some of the shades are difficult to tell apart. I was stuck between that one and,” he pointed at one with a slightly pinker hue.</p><p>                “With your creator, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he purposefully made you with achromatopsia, babe,” Scaramouche sighed, paying for the items. He was surprised at how inexpensive it was, although he supposed he would have been paying for the work to be done.</p><p>                “I can see most colors. Red and green have been increasingly difficult to tell apart,” Francis stated as he pulled out the small sewing kit from his pocket. He cut off the old button and carefully sewed on the replacement. Scaramouche watched his fingers nimbly pull the needle through the holes over and over, blinking as Francis cut the thread and tied it off.</p><p>                “I can’t actually tell if my pants and hat matches,” he admitted. Scaramouche barked a laugh at that, wrapping him in a tight hug.</p><p>                “Don’t worry, babe! I wouldn’t have let you walk around with that fashion disaster.” He leaned down, kissing him on the top of the head before taking his hand again. “You look perfect. Now let’s really have some fun!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 6:</p><p>                He would be lying if he said he was not worried, and he hated lying to himself. He had tagged Francis’ record so he would be notified if there was any activity. Of course he hoped that just meant an updated catch. It had been two months since Francis’ last catch, and considering Francis averaged one every two weeks or so, something was up. Scaramouche had been busy with his own target for nearly a month and had not spent much time keeping tabs. The record still listed him as active, and Scaramouche tried not to think about how that could mean his body just had not been found. He was kicking himself for not sharing his wavelength with Francis, having always been easily able to find him. He would check the latest catch and pick up the trail in the area. Usually he would wait for his partner to share their wavelength, and Francis had just not offered yet.</p><p>                So he really tried not think about it as he was slaughtering targets and tried not to imagine a cruel fate bestowed on the gorgeous bot as he decimated a rebel town. He tried not to worry when there was a hint of red out of the corner of his eye when he was in the woods or get too riled when bounties talked about disposing of their hunter.</p><p>                He waited another week before calling in the big guns to acquire Francis’ wavelength. It took a bit of snooping, yet he extracted it from one of the collection centers that required it and sent a ping Francis’ way. He identified himself and merely stated he was saying hi since he had been busy and not able to meet up. It was carefully worded not to indicate he had been stalking his record incessantly for at least a week.</p><p>                ‘I’ve been recuperating the last few weeks,’ came the instant reply. Scaramouche frowned as the initial glee of having a response dissipated. It did not take a genius to know that was likely wreaking havoc on Francis’ already stretched finances.</p><p>                ‘Can I upgrade you to something comfy, babe?’ He kept a friendlier and knowing tone in the message, although he doubted Francis would worry if he showed him concern anyway.</p><p>                ‘There’s no need since you’re not here.’</p><p>                ‘Oh? Is that an invitation, babe?’ Scaramouche booked the next train ticket within seconds of what Scaramouche assumed was the approval to visit and the address.</p><hr/><p>                 “Good news, babe! I’ve found several nicer locations only a quick taxi ride away,” Scaramouche beamed as he let himself in. Francis had made arrangements for him to pick up a second key card at the front desk. The fun benefits of the upgrades died on his tongue as he took a moment to really examine Francis. The bot was splayed out on his back and had not made a move to get up since Scaramouche entered. Scaramouche would not blame him though. There was a messy welding scar a couple inches above the waistband of his pants. The edges disappeared past his hips and Scaramouche had a nasty suspicion it went all the way around him. Francis looked overall exhausted like Scaramouche had never seen him before.</p><p>                “How are you doing, babe?” Scaramouche let his tone drop a bit as he pulled up a chair. His thoughts on the train ride was that Francis was mostly recovered and just letting all the residual pain work itself out of his system. That is how Scaramouche treated his injuries, although he should have known Francis better.</p><p>                “I’m tired,” Francis stated simply. “It will likely take another week or two. The injury was high enough nothing critical was damaged, so it was just wire repairs.”</p><p>                “Can I take you to the hospital, babe? There’s no sense in sitting here in pain. They can replace the circuits and wires easily if there’s no critical damage! Then we can go get some body work done,” he smiled playfully.</p><p>                “Non. It would be useless to go.”</p><p>                “I’ll pay for it, babe. I don’t mind that!”</p><p>                “It’s not an issue of money.” He slowly went to push himself up. Scaramouche could only wince as Francis gritted his teeth and closed his eyes with the pain. He could not find the words to insist Francis was fine where he was. Settling back against the bedframe with a soft hiss, the only noise he had made through the ordeal, he turned his focus back to Scaramouche.</p><p>                Then why not go, babe? Hell, why not get some of the neglected work done by your creator since they’re out of the picture?”</p><p>                “It’s not an option. My schematics are not on record because he did not want them getting out. I’m an original build with no centralized chip.” Scaramouche wondered for a brief second if Francis had just forced himself to sit up to deliver the devastating news when there was a knock at the door. The door beeped and the receptionist that had originally given him the spare key card let herself in.</p><p>                “Merci,” Francis nodded weakly as she left the tray of fuel on the bedside table. The woman blinked in surprise as she caught sight of Scaramouche’s face.</p><p>                “Is everything alright?” she asked quietly. Scaramouche hollowly answered everything was fine. Francis declined needing anything else before she took her leave. He slowly took the mug from the tray and sipped at it. Scaramouche forced his fans on to help quell his nerves as he processed the information.</p><p>                “So what does that mean for you, babe?” The hoarse question did nothing to mask what he already assumed. His spirits sank even further when Francis affirmed his fears.</p><p>                “It means no major internal work can be done safely. All that can be replaced are the joints and joint wires. The rest can likely only be repaired, as what was done to the wires in my waist.” He replaced the mug, still half full to the bedside table. “I figure I have another five to ten years based on the last estimate I received, barring any major injury. Perhaps a little longer if I have the funds and someone feeling risky enough to attempt a replacement.”</p><p>                “That’s morbid, babe,” Scaramouche tried to laugh, tried to make any noise to suppress the sob that wanted to rise up in his throat.</p><p>                “I thought you should know. This is the longest I’ve been with anyone and you had a right to the information.” Scaramouche stared a moment longer before easing himself onto the bed next to Francis. He gingerly pulled him into a hug, holding Francis’ head snug against his chest. The arms wrapped around his own waist and squeezed him tight despite the pain. Scaramouche pulled away first, cupping Francis’ chin in his hands to plant a soft kiss on his lips. It was the same look he always had, not even tinged with remorse or despair at the depressing news he had just shared.</p><p>                “Is there anything I can do for you, babe? Now, I mean, not, you know, about all the shit your creator did to you,” Scaramouche let out a forced laugh.</p><p>                “I’m supposed to do light activity to keep everything from seizing up. Would you like to go on a walk with me?”</p><p>                “I’d love to, babe!” He was directed to not lend a hand as Francis very painstakingly made it to his feet. Once he was up, it seemed more of a discomfort splashed across his face than agony. He took Scaramouche’s hand and slowly wandered down the hall. The walk was silent. Scaramouche could not shake the feeling he wanted to comfort Francis. He knew why Francis had told him: it was an opportunity to call off whatever was between them with no hard feelings. As far as Scaramouche was concerned, he himself was going to live a long time. He had a centralized chip that could be easily reinstalled in a new model, safeguards to stop whoever was trying to destroy his body from destroying the chip, alerts to his family in case of danger, on top of peak assassin skills. It would take nothing short of a small, highly trained army to completely wipe his existence from the face of the earth. Yes, it could be done, and the painful memory of his own sisters in shambles before him sprang up. He must have inadvertently tightened his hand as Francis gave him three reassuring squeezes. Scaramouche passed him a smile before shaking the thought away.</p><p>                Ten years was nothing in the grand scheme of things. He had a family a little over ten years ago. His whole family, that was, and it still felt like it had not been that long ago. Turning his gaze to Francis again, who was carefully watching his steps, he knew that he would never even dream of taking the given opportunity. He would just have to make the most of these ten years! Maybe they would get lucky. He had the money and he’d be more than happy to shell out to keep Francis running.</p><p>                “I thought I’d take you to the pond today,” Francis spoke, startling Scaramouche from his thoughts. He blinked and glanced about. It was not like him to be caught without an acute awareness of his surroundings. Francis did manage to leave him flustered, just not in the normal way.</p><p>                “It’s lovely, babe.” Glancing back, he realized they had come quite a way from the motel, which did make him a little more optimistic about the one to two weeks Francis had quoted earlier. <br/>                “How long are you staying?” <br/>                “A few days, babe,” Scaramouche murmured. He had hoped it would be until Francis finished recovering, but only because he had gravely miscalculated how long it would be. “I can stay longer if you need.”</p><p>                “I will be fine. You would be bored here. I won’t be able to provide much entertainment for another week.”</p><p>                “I do just enjoy your company, babe,” Scaramouche insisted, knowing exactly what Francis had been implying.</p><p>                “I can hardly offer that right now. I have been in stasis the majority of the days to help speed the process.”</p><p>                “Then I’ll just watch you sleep, babe!” He leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You still doing alright? Need any help getting back?”</p><p>                “I am fine. It will just be slow going back.” He gave Scaramouche’s hand three more squeezes, and Scaramouche studied him. He was tempted to ask why he always insisted on doing three squeezes. Scaramouche had always done that with his family and wondered if he had just done it to Francis out of habit enough times that Francis had picked it up. Or maybe it was just something he did for no reason.</p><p>                “What’s wrong?” The blank eyes looked up.</p><p>                “Nothing, babe. Just thinking about how much I love you.” He kissed his forehead before squeezing Francis’ hand three times and turning to head back to the motel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                He could feel his port wanting to start leaking as he watched Francis finish securing the target. It had been too long since he had gotten to see Francis properly work and he forgot how handsome he was doing it. The consideration of when to make an entrance was cut short as Francis turned his head in Scaramouche’s general direction.</p><p>                “What gave it away, babe? Could you just feel the passion in the air?” Scaramouche beamed as he dismounted from the trees.</p><p>                “I had seen a flash of purple earlier. I keep an eye out for the color in case you happen to stop by.” Ah, so he looked out for him! That was a nice sign, considering Scaramouche had no idea if Francis even thought about him outside of their get togethers.</p><p>                “You don’t have to protect me,” Francis added as he hefted the target over his shoulder.</p><p>                “Oh, I know that, babe.” That was not to say he had not been keeping a close eye on Francis’ record and being a little more diligent about messaging if Francis had not had a catch during the week.  Still, he had to give credit where it was due and Francis was a damn good bounty hunter. “I’ve come to ask you an important question: Have you ever been on a proper vacation, babe? And resting due to an injury doesn’t count!”</p><p>                “Oui, I have.” Scaramouche blinked in surprise. It would at least give him a good starting point then as to making his own offer.</p><p>                “Tell me more! What’d you do? Where’d you go, babe?” he beamed encouragingly.</p><p>                “You were there.” Scaramouche’s face fell. He was still back at square one.</p><p>                “That day we spent together doesn’t count. That was like an extended date, babe. I’m talking an honest to goodness kick-your-feet-up-and-do-not-work-for-a-week-or-more vacation. Fun and relaxation to your heart’s content!”</p><p>                “Then non. I have not.”</p><p>                “I suppose your creator kept you on too short a leash for a vacation, babe?”</p><p>                “Oui. And you said recovering didn’t count.”</p><p>                “How’d you even get away from that fucker anyway? Must have been quite a bit of planning to sneak out.”</p><p>                “I killed him.” Oh. <em>Oh</em>! Scaramouche’s eyes lit up and he almost dropped to one knee right then and there. He kept himself upright, reminding himself the ring was not yet sized and that he had other motives for asking the initial question.</p><p>                “So what do you say about taking a real, all-expense paid vacation, babe?” Scaramouche finally recovered enough to speak. “We can crash at my place and do whatever we want in town. I’m hardly there myself, so it’ll be new and exciting!” Truthfully, he wanted to see how they lived together. It was nice working with him, yet Scaramouche knew his work stamina was nowhere near as strong as Francis’. Plus it was a chance to see him longer term in a different environment.</p><p>                “That sounds good.”</p><p>                “Of course we can go anywhere you want, babe,” Scaramouche added, closing the distance between them so he could finally kiss Francis’ lips again.</p><p>                “Your place is fine,” Francis stated when Scaramouche finished kissing him.</p><p>                “Then what are we waiting for, babe? Let’s get this deadweight to town!”</p><hr/><p>                “I’m just saying that maybe something a little easier on your body would result in a <em>little</em> less damage than bounty hunting, babe,” Scaramouche suggested. “Don’t go back to what you used to do if you don’t like it, but there’s lots of options!”</p><p>                “Like modeling?” Francis stated.</p><p>                “Yes! Exactly, babe! You’d be perfect for that! You could get some sponsors, get some regular and consistent hours, all the benefits you could want. It’d be great!” Scaramouche gestured into his bedroom so Francis could set his bag down. He assumed it was more likely than not that Francis would be sleeping in here with him … when they got to that part.</p><p>                “So like this?” Scaramouche let a grin spread over his face as Francis made a show of unbuttoning his shirt. It took most of his willpower to refrain from stripping off his own outfit as more of Francis’ chest was revealed. Francis kicked off his boots and splayed on the bed seductively. He stretched out, making sure Scaramouche got an eyeful of his chest as he modeled.</p><p>                “You would hate if I had this job,” Francis stated after another minute. Scaramouche blinked himself out of his stupor with a questioning noise. “It would bother you that so many strangers got to see me this way.” Scaramouche could feel the words hitting him like a ton of bricks, each one piercing him. Francis was right and he again found himself wondering how Francis could just know him so well when he himself could not figure out the incredibly handsome bot before him. The thought of all those bots jerking off to Francis made his processors freeze up. Hell, some of the ones who had already used (rented? He hated the sound of all of it) Francis probably still did and well … He did not want to think on that anymore than he had to.</p><p>                “This is all for you, now,” Francis stated and Scaramouche shook his head again. That was music to his ears and he found himself grinning as he finally shrugged out of his own coat. He did have to admit that Francis always kept things exciting. Whether intentional or not, he could always take Scaramouche’s processors from one extreme to the other. Sure, it was partially his fault for still not understanding Francis, yet he knew it would never be dull around this bot.</p><p>                He made his way up from the foot of the bed as Francis rolled to his back. He kissed his way up from the waistband of Francis’ pants, moving up the gorgeous chest before focusing an electrified tongue along the seams of Francis’ neck. Letting his weight rest on top of Francis, Scaramouche grinned as he could feel the other’s arousal already pressing against him.</p><p>                “How far are we taking this, babe? We just got into town and I’d hate for you to just have to sit here while I recharge.”</p><p>                “As far as you want. I don’t mind either way.” Scaramouche resumed kissing at Francis’ neck as he mulled it over. He doubted he could make it through one round considering how much they had made out on the way over. It was mostly to piss off the occupant of the adjacent compartment since he had insulted Francis (not that Francis had minded about that either, but Scaramouche had. He was not going to stand for anyone insulting his boyfriend!), although it was a much more pleasant way to travel. They had kept it just tame enough that the other traveler could not complain. Still, Scaramouche had been steaming for the majority of the time and it had taken it’s toll.</p><p>                “I just want to make you sing, babe,” Scaramouche purred. He slid his hand down Francis’ chest before deftly undoing Francis’ pants. “And then we’ll hit the town!”</p><hr/><p>                Scaramouche blinked his eyes on slowly. His arms were empty. He let his eyes shut back off as he finally perceived the shower running in the background. Maybe if they had not gone so long that night, he would have considered getting up to join him.</p><p>                There was still a part of him that wanted Francis back in his arms. At least the first three nights, he had gotten to cuddle the smaller bot all night long. That, or he just did not wake up the other nights if Francis left. Forcing one eye back on at half brightness, he decided he would wait. Francis had gone along with sleeping in, so if he lost a little recharge here, he could certainly make it up later.</p><p>                The whole “vacation” had been quite enjoyable so far. It still felt nearly impossible to gage if Francis was having a good time, but Francis had not said he was <em>not</em> having a good time. He was agreeable enough to whatever Scaramouche suggested. Of course it was still frustrating when Scaramouche had slipped up and asked Francis what he wanted or preferred and got absolutely nothing. The bot did not seem to want. Decisions were need based, which was an interesting surprise when Francis nearly outright declined getting a nice suit. He had insisted he did not need it, putting up almost as much of a fight as he did with a bounty he refused to take in. After more coaxing and insisting it was a necessity, he did finally convince Francis to cave. It was refreshing to see him put up the fight though. It would be nice to see him not take the cat calls and demeaning comments, too, although Scaramouche’s threats shut them up very nicely.</p><p>                He found his eyes off and jerked awake. The bed was still empty, save for him. Forcing one eye to stay on, he wondered just how long it had been. He had not thought to check the time when he first noticed the bed was empty. It just felt like a long time because he wanted to be curled up around his boyfriend and sleeping, he decided. The absence of the shower woke him up again and he blinked both eyes on. He stretched his legs out to get a little more oil flowing so he could properly invite Francis back into his arms. There was little other noise before the light clicked off and the door gently clicked open.</p><p>                “Missed you, babe,” Scaramouche murmured lazily as Francis approached his side of the bed.</p><p>                “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he stated as he slid into the open embrace.</p><p>                “Mms ‘kay, babe. You can always wake me if you can’t sleep.” He ran his fingers down the back of Francis’ head, wondering just how Francis had gotten his hair so dry so quickly. The thought was forced out of his mind as Francis wrapped his own arms around him and kissed at the underside of his jaw. Hugging Francis close, he felt a slight shutter run through the bot.</p><p>                “You okay, babe?”</p><p>                “I’m tired.” Tilting his head down a bit, he pressed a kiss to the top of Francis’ head before bidding him a good night.</p><hr/><p>                Neither one of them were really watching the movie. Scaramouche had seen it half a dozen times and Francis, as per usual, had no opinion on what they watched. It was purely background noise, with a simple plot to follow and a hell of a good soundtrack. Scaramouche caught Francis glancing up every now and then for a major scene. Otherwise, Francis was highly engrossed in mending his jacket.</p><p>                More often than not, Scaramouche found his eyes drifting over to Francis. It was calming to watch him meticulously work the needle through the fabric. Yes, it would have been faster to take it to a professional tailor and yes, it would have been easier to just buy a new jacket. They were a dime a dozen as far as Scaramouche was concerned. He had already pushed his luck in getting the suit and he did know Francis preferred the cheapest route. It was one of the few things he was finally understanding. The only reason Scaramouche figured he could take Francis to the more upscale bars and activities was because Francis was unaware of the cheaper and even free events in the city. Or perhaps Francis was just okay with it so long as it was what Scaramouche wanted and it did not directly benefit him.</p><p>                Which was going to make getting anything for Francis difficult. How was he going to give this bot gifts? While activation days were technically out of the picture (as far as anyone was concerned, Francis did not exactly exist before he registered to be a bounty hunter, which was good from a legal standpoint on the murder of his creator and horrible on every single other front. It also meant Scaramouche could not find any information about his age or activation date), there would still be anniversaries.</p><p>                Perhaps if it were actually practical, Scaramouche mused as he turned back to look at the screen from Aku knows how long staring session, Francis would begrudgingly accept it. He could try and spin it so that he himself would benefit. If that benefit was spending more time with Francis, than it was still a benefit, right?</p><p>                A sewing machine! That would work perfectly. It could be stored here since Francis had no permanent residence to return to if Scaramouche got it as an early gift. Another excuse to have Francis visit if he needed, although given how well the week had gone, Scaramouche figured he would not have to look for excuses much longer.</p><p>                After watching through one of his favorite scenes, he turned his attention back to Francis. It seemed he had finished the repairs as the jacket and sewing kit were set on the table beside the recliner. The blank eyes were focused on the screen as the movie began winding down. Scaramouche grinned, pleased that he had at least one anniversary present idea. One of ten max, his mind instantly supplied and he shook his head to dispel the thought. The movement must have caught Francis’ eye as he turned towards him.</p><p>                “What’s wrong?”</p><p>                “Nothing, babe. Just clearing my head,” he forced the grin back. It became a little more genuine as Francis rose from the recliner and stretched out on the sofa next to Scaramouche. He settled under Scaramouche’s jaw as Scaramouche wrapped his arms around him and shifted to get them comfortable. “Up for another movie?”</p><p>                “We can watch another.” Scaramouche got the sequel started. The only thing better than the first was the soundtrack, which made it bearable. Still, it was easy to watch and meant Scaramouche could focus more on his boyfriend snuggled against him. He was certainly going to miss this when they returned to their respective jobs the following day. Perhaps he would have to think of some more excuses to take a few days off here and there before he asked the real question.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 8:</p><p>                “If I’ve only got ten years max, I’d like to spend as much of it with you as possible, babe,” Scaramouche stated proudly as Francis finally caught sight of him. He had not been asked why he had showed up unannounced and was just assuming the question was below the surface.</p><p>                Scaramouche fell into step as they began tracking their next target. He only let out a sigh when Francis turned his attention to the poor creature caught in the vine trap. Pulling out his own dagger, he helped chop away at the vines. The antlers jerked towards his head a few times. He managed to avoid them. Francis was thanked for his efforts with a swift kick to the jaw as the creature scampered away. Scaramouche winced as Francis clicked his jaw back into place and worked it a few times.</p><p>                “I suppose no good deed goes unpunished, hm, babe?” he snorted, once he found his composure. Francis merely shrugged. Scaramouche swooped down to gently kiss at the scuffed area before pulling Francis along to resume their hunt.</p><p>                Once the target was in sight, they prepared to attack. Scaramouche let Francis go first, knowing he liked to make an announcement of his intentions. It had always struck him as strange, yet, they had never lost a target when the announcement was made, so there was no harm in it as far as Scaramouche was concerned.</p><p>                “Garrett prepare yourself, for you are our bounty.” The target jumped to his feet, knocking over the oil he had heating. Francis had his swords drawn and ready before Garrett could properly fire off a shot. Francis dove out of the way as Scaramouche ducked to the side. Deciding he had no chance of taking out both of them, Garrett let his gun dangle off his thumb as he raised his hands in defeat.</p><p>                “Francis! Long time, no see, sugar plum. Still as cold as ever.” Turning in attention to Scaramouche, he added with a devious smirk, “What is this? Take your whore to work day? Letting her play dress up as a bounty hunter?”</p><p>                “Him,” Scaramouche hissed. His mouth twitched dangerously. Garrett made an exaggerated effort of rolling his eyes.</p><p>                “Oh, I’m sorry. Letting <em>him</em> play dress up as a bounty hunter?” At that, Scaramouche charged forward. Garrett fumbled the gun back into his hands seconds too late as Scaramouche tackled him and raised up his dagger.</p><p>                “Stop. We agreed to take him in alive,” Francis stated. Scaramouche blinked, halting the downward arc of his swing. He looked over pleadingly.</p><p>                “But, babe …” His arm slowly lowered to his side as his shoulders slumped.</p><p>                “Well, I can see who wears the pants in your arrangement. Didn’t quite <em>peg</em> you as one of those kind of bots, assassin,” Garrett laughed. It was cut off briskly as Scaramouche punched him in the mouth. Scaramouche rolled to his feet, grabbing the collar of Garrett’s slightly tattered suit and hauling him to his feet. He shoved him in the direction of Francis before kicking his knees out to send him face first on the ground. Francis began securing Garrett’s wrists behind his back as Scaramouche destroyed his weapons.</p><p>                “Not my favorite position,” Garrett teased as Francis kept his legs pinned down. “Nor my favorite outfit on you. I much preferred you in nothing at all.” Finished with the ropework, Francis rose to his feet without a word and pulled Garrett up.</p><p>                “Aw, why the cold shoulder, sugar plum? You always act like you didn’t care, but I always had you squirming below me.” Garrett leaned close, trying to kiss at Francis.</p><p>                “Shut up!” Scaramouche roared as he charged at him again. Francis planted himself between them as he grabbed Scaramouche’s left arm. The dagger shook in Scaramouche’s harsh grasp.</p><p>                “Or what? You’ll kill me and lose out on the reward? They built this one with a bit of brains. Usually all the good stuff is below the belt.” Francis pushed Scaramouche back as the joints in Scaramouche’s fingers groaned around the hilt of his dagger. He forced his fans on, then forced them on high as he tried to find relief from his growing anger.</p><p>                “Please stop.” The request was the usual flat tone, yet it was hardly above a whisper. He knew. Francis knew how much it was grinding his gears. Scaramouche clicked the two halves of the dagger back together and sheathed it.</p><p>                “Then I guess we better find some shelter, babe. Looks like we’re due for some rain,” Scaramouche forced out. Francis took his right hand and squeezed it a few times. Scaramouche gripped it tight. He was sure he was hurting the smaller bot, but Francis never said anything. Garrett made a noise of protest as Scaramouche swept his legs out from under him and dragged him along behind him.</p><p>                “How about there?” Francis pointed out the hidden cave. Scaramouche blinked as the words cut through his haze, realizing he had been almost oblivious to where they had been headed as he tried to tune out every noise around him. He also became acutely aware of how much his left shoulder was aching from dragging along the weight.</p><p>                “Perfect, babe!” Scaramouche forced a smile for him and released Francis’ hand. He could feel the joints in his fingers pop as he flexed them from the tight hold. “Did I hurt you?” he pressed as he caught sight of Francis massaging his left hand.</p><p>                “Non. They’re just a little stiff. They’re not very sensitive to pain.” Garrett received a swift kick as he made a lewd comment on Francis sensitivity. He grunted and fell silent again.</p><p>                The cave was cramped. Even Francis had to duck down to keep from banging his head against the ceiling. It was not Scaramouche’s ideal campsite, yet thunder had been rumbling overhead for the last fifteen minutes. Scaramouche deposited Garrett near the entrance and situated himself deeper in the cave to set out the mat. Francis secured Garrett’s legs and dragged him a little further inside before hiding the entrance as best he could.</p><p>                “You don’t have to be modest, assassin,” Garrett teased as the storm raged outside. They had been plunged into near darkness as the clouds gathered. Francis had made his way over to Scaramouche and sat on his lap, leaning the side of his head against Scaramouche’s shoulder as the assassin gingerly plucked leaves and twigs out of his hair. “Francis is used to an audience!” With his fingers combing through Francis’ hair, he forced himself to stay calm. He could not allow himself to hurt Francis because of some outside interference. Instead, he focused on the arm around his upper back that gave him a gentle squeeze and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Francis’ closest temple.</p><p>                He would have liked to know they had been targeting an old client of Francis’ in the first place. He had merely assumed that Francis was after the target to right a wrong against a sex worker rather than a personal vendetta. Glancing down at the bot in his lap, he figured it probably was not a personal grudge since Francis did not seem to operate that way. It would not have changed much if Scaramouche had known, he finally decided, his fingers moving smoothly through Francis’ hair now that he had undone the tangles. Francis likely could not have warned him about the horrible personality because he would not have known just how badly it was affecting him.</p><p>                “Why don’t you get some sleep, babe? I’ll take the first watch and wake you when I’m ready to switch,” Scaramouche stated quietly. He doubted he would be able to sleep at all. Garrett had gotten too far under his plates and would likely know how to say just the right things to keep him on edge the whole night. Francis nodded as he moved off of Scaramouche’s lap and began situating himself on the mat.</p><p>                “You waiting for him to be at his most vulnerable? How devious! And I thought I was bad,” Garrett chuckled. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed and his hands curled into fists now that they were no longer occupied. He made a slight questioning noise as Francis sat back up and switched sides so that his head was resting in Scaramouche’s lap.</p><p>                “I’m sorry,” Francis stated, nodding towards the mouth of the cave. Scaramouche nodded, letting his eyes turn off as Garrett let out another rant about how the only thing Francis should be sorry for is not performing up to par. Scaramouche’s left hand clawed at the cave floor as he gingerly stroked Francis’ head with his right hand.</p><p>                “She asleep yet?” Garrett asked a couple hours later. Scaramouche’s eyes darted over and he forced himself to stay quiet. “You going to get started?” Scaramouche let his eyes turn off again. He heard Garrett moving around, although he knew he would not get far: Francis handiwork would ensure that.</p><p>                “If you’re shy, I’ll look the other way,” Garrett snickered. When he still received no response, he continued on. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let your toy go to waste on my behalf!” Scaramouche’s eyes snapped back on.</p><p>                “He’s not a toy!” he hissed, instantly regretting responding. He snapped his eyes back off, trying to instead focus on the soft breathing mimicry Francis was doing. It had calmed him earlier, almost to the point of considering letting Francis take a shift. Now, it was not cutting it.</p><p>                “Sure, whatever you say. You and I both know what he was built for. <em>He knows</em> what he’s built for, so why not take advantage of it? His head is right there and begging for it.”</p><p>                “Shut up! He’s the only reason you’re not dead yet.” He felt Francis shift in his lap resumed stroking his head to ease him back into stasis. Garrett chuckled lowly.</p><p>                “Well <em>I</em> hate to waste good things. I’m even willing to overlook what you did to my suit. So in good faith, I’m willing to pay top dollar for an hour with him. You can watch if you want. Name your price.” Scaramouche had to pull his hand away from Francis’ head so as not to accidently yank his hair.</p><p>                “Well? I can tell you what I used to pay for <em>sessions</em> with him if you need a starting point.”</p><p>                “You can contract with him directly if he wants to do something with you,” Scaramouche spoke slowly, feeling the static rage tinge his words.</p><p>                “I don’t.” Scaramouche jerked in surprise as Francis spoke. Scaramouche could see Garrett blink in surprise as well before he recovered.</p><p>                “Then surely you want to do something for fun, Francis? I’m sure you remember how good and aroused I made you feel. Although I suppose you were like that for everyone. You were never picky about your partners.”</p><p>                “Stop.” The word was nearly lost to static as Scaramouche turned his eyes on Garrett again. He eased Francis out of his lap and Francis moved back.</p><p>                “You’re too possessive of your toy!” Garrett gibed. “You think you’re the only one he gets turned on for? Oh no. You’re nothing special. What you really need to do is let loose and share him. I can’t tell you how good it feels with someone else using him just as hard as you are. Oh Aku! It’s amazing!”</p><p>                “I said stop.”</p><p>                “I’d be happy to show you if you’d like. You can take whatever side you want and –”</p><p>                “Enough!” Scaramouche roared. He rose up as high as he could in the cave and stormed over to Garrett. The target let out a laugh.</p><p>                “Alright, Francis, call off your body guard.” Francis was silent, looking on blankly. Scaramouche grabbed Garrett’s collar.</p><p>                “Call him off, Francis.” The panicked note had crept into his voice as Scaramouche began dragging him to the entrance.</p><p>                “Francis! <em>Please!</em> Make him stop!”</p><p>                “I can’t stop him if he wants to kill you,” Francis stated bluntly. “I’m not that powerful.”</p><p>                “FRANCIS! Come on! No! Stop!” Garrett writhed his body, yet the bindings did not give. “Please! I was kind to you! I was good to you in bed!”</p><p>                “That was not kindness.”</p><p>                “Don’t worry, babe,” Scaramouche smirked, the sinister grin spreading the length of his face. “I’ll make sure there’s <em>just</em> <em>enough</em> pieces left to turn you in for the full reward. I’ll have you begging for death!”</p><hr/><p>                “You took it too far,” Francis stated as Scaramouche stretched out beside him. The broken and still body had been left again by the cave entrance when Scaramouche returned.</p><p>                “He’ll be fine, babe. A little mangled and in incredible pain, but nothing permanent. He didn’t even lose that much oil.” He fought the urge to demand to know if Francis still cared about him. He figured if Francis did care, he would have told him not to injure him.</p><p>                “It was still unnecessary.” Scaramouche snapped his mouth shut, swallowing his retort. There was too much pent-up rage and he was not going to direct it at the wrong person again.</p><p>                “He was insulting you, babe,” Scaramouche insisted, once he had calmed his nerves. He hugged the smaller bot next to him to try and soothe Francis back into stasis again.</p><p>                “I know. It does not bother me.”</p><p>                “It’s not right, babe. You don’t deserve any of that! I don’t care what job you did or what you were built for: you deserve respect!”</p><p>                “You show me respect and kindness.” Scaramouche sighed again, instead kissing at Francis’ temple.</p><p>                “You shouldn’t be treated that way, babe. I’m sorry if injuring him upset you, but I will not apologize to him.” Francis settled into Scaramouche’s embrace. The silence weighed heavily on his chest, so Scaramouche spoke again.</p><p>                “Do you … your clients…?” He trailed off awkwardly.</p><p>                “I don’t care about them,” Francis answered. “I had no choice but to service them. Some were gentler than others. Most of them knew it was against my will.” Scaramouche hugged him tighter.</p><p>                “Do you wish you could have escaped or been saved earlier, babe?” There was a long pause. That was normal. It continued on, so Scaramouche kissed his temple again. Francis craned his neck back so he could kiss at the underside of Scaramouche’s jaw. Without an active audience, he pulled Francis on top of him so he could properly pepper him with affection. There was no worry that Garrett would come online for quite a while: Scaramouche had made sure of it.</p><p>                “Oui. That is the answer, but it doesn’t really matter. It would have made little difference if it was a week or a year earlier. Perhaps … if it had been very early in my career … I might have been different.” The last part came so quietly that a bot with normal hearing would have had to strain to hear it. It finally dawned on Scaramouche that Francis never said the chip was destroyed, merely corrupted. He hugged Francis against him tightly. It was reciprocated until Francis finally slipped into stasis.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 9:</p><p>                “You still want to be with me?” Francis asked as he looked down at Scaramouche.</p><p>                “Most bots would get all staticky and hopefully say yes, babe.”</p><p>                “Are you sure?”</p><p>                “Pretty sure that’s what usually happens, babe.” He grinned up as Francis paused to consider his words. It was an intentional misinterpretation on his part, although he could not help himself.</p><p>                “Non, I mean that you want this.”</p><p>                “Yeah, babe. I’m sure. Will you marry me?” Scaramouche asked again, not going through the whole spiel this time. He smiled up as the usual blank expression was plastered on Francis’ face. It was a long moment, but Scaramouche had prepared himself for any answer. Well, almost any answer.</p><p>                “Oui. I will marry you Mon Cher.” Oh how he loved the new nickname! It was so beautiful on his boyfriend’s (fiancé, he corrected instantly) lips that his hands trembled as he slid the ring on Francis’ finger. At once, he was up and kissing him. Francis kissed him back just as hard. He eased them both to the ground, a thrill going through him as Francis straddled his lap and kept at it.</p><p>                Scaramouche was tempted to take it all the way right then and there. Francis certainly seemed willing, although the ground was not Scaramouche’s ideal spot. Taking Francis’ chin gently in his hand, he broke off the kiss. He took a second to settle his processors. He was already steaming from the sort session  with the joy and relief of Francis’ answer.</p><p>                “So there’s no bounty?” Scaramouche let out a barking chuckle at the question. He would never match that work ethic.</p><p>                “There was, just in case I got cold feet, babe. Not that I really want to chase it now…”</p><p>                “Dinner then?” Scaramouche pecked his nose before Francis rose to his feet and offered him a hand. “I will order myself a flavor for you.”</p><p>                “You read my mind, babe!”</p><hr/><p>                “It’s a date, babe!” Scaramouche beamed as he straightened Francis’ bowtie.</p><p>                “But we’re married.” It was one of those times where, even with his superior hearing, he could not quite tell if the words were a statement or a question. They had been married for three weeks, signing the certificate the day after Scaramouche proposed. He had considered having some sort of ceremony, yet he hardly had enough close friends to invite and Francis had none, and figured he would pour all of the savings into a nicer honeymoon. He could have done something with his family, although he had gotten an earful from the older of his two remaining younger brothers about his choice of spouse. The youngest had the decency to congratulate him and wish them both well. He would introduce Francis to them later … maybe.</p><p>                “I know, but it’s date night, babe! Or I suppose if it makes you feel better, we can call it honeymoon-dot-E-X-E,” he teased. Francis slipped his hand into Scaramouche’s and allowed the taller bot to guide him out to the taxi parked out front of his building. Their actual honeymoon had been two weeks ago. When Francis admitted he had never actually been to France, something about his creator moving away due to the local taxes in the area before he was built, Scaramouche insisted they had to go. They spent most of the week in Paris. It had been too long since Scaramouche had visited last and he had enjoyed every moment of it.  Plus, without the thought of work, he could actually kick back.</p><p>                “You look quite dashing in the suit, babe,” Scaramouche beamed as he swooped down to steal a kiss before opening the car door for Francis.</p><p>                “Merci.” Scaramouche let out a sigh only when the car door was closed. He was not quite sure if that had been for the compliment, opening the door, or both. Not that he had been fishing for a compliment. He knew how good he looked himself. It was just the typical curiosity of wondering if Francis knew how much he really did love him. It would also be nice to hear  if Francis cared at all for him, although he supposed Francis cared enough since he agreed to marry him in the first place.</p><p>                He grinned again as he took his own seat, wrapping an arm around Francis’ shoulders as the smaller bot leaned against him. There must be something that Francis liked about him, Scaramouche assured himself. It was not like Francis had married him for the fame, fortune, or power. He was usually trying to decline that when offered. Tonight was also something that Francis would have declined if Scaramouche had said it was strictly for him. It was for both of them, although Scaramouche had a hunch he would not be able to unwind and enjoy the music as much as if he had been seeing it alone. He had not taken Francis to an event solely based on music. With music being the root of his passion, his purpose for being built, and the start of everything, he was not sure he would be able to accept the blank expression and empty comment that usually followed the events they attended.</p><p>                The apprehension was well hid as he stared out the window, enjoying the presence beside him. All the “should haves” bounced around in his head. Should have asked before, should have taken him to a concert before, should have told him about his past… They grew louder as they pulled up to the entrance. He let himself out first, blasting a bit of pent-up hot air out of his mouth before opening the door for Francis.</p><p>                It took most of his will power to keep quiet about the questioning stares. He could hardly believe that Francis had to tolerate this all the time. The looks of disgust, lust, and just confusion followed them in. He focused more on their intertwined fingers. They at least had a private pair of seats Scaramouche had paid top dollar for, mostly so he did not have to tolerate anyone else.</p><p>                “You are nervous.” Scaramouche hummed questioningly, buying himself a few more seconds to decide if that had been a question or comment. He wondered if his hearing was just a bit off tonight.</p><p>                “What makes you say that, babe?”</p><p>                “You’re very quiet tonight.” Scaramouche chuckled at that. That, on top of whatever expression reading training Francis had, probably made it so painfully obvious, regardless of how hard he was trying to hide it.</p><p>                “Are you saying I’m too loud normally, babe?” he teased back, stealing another kiss before Francis had the chance to answer. Francis answered by pressing back against his lips. This was also a fun perk of having a booth to themselves. He hardly let up until the lights dimmed, feeling his nerves flair up again as he settled back into his seat. He dared not let his eyes trail over to Francis as the flutist played a single note and each section followed in suit, making sure all was tuned. The usual chill went through him and he could not stand to see the blank coldness of his companion.</p><p>                It was a few numbers in when his eyes strayed from the stage. There had been a slight movement on his right and he finally caught sight of Francis’ hand rest on the arm of his own chair. For him, he realized. A quick glance was all he was willing to spare, knowing it was the usual blank expression. He finally moved his hands from wringing in his lap and took the offering.</p><p>                A smile graced his features when the head rested against his shoulder. Allowing himself to relax more, he unclenched his jaw and tried to settle in again. This was also for his enjoyment. He loved music and if Francis did not care?  Then, well, it was …</p><p>                It would have to be fine. He knew he was worrying the scarf between his fingers and forced himself to stop. The worst was that his brothers would laugh at him, right? How could he marry someone who did not love music half as much as he did, they would tease. And that was fine. They could laugh. He was happy…</p><p>                There was just the hitch in his gears that left him on edge. The lights grew brighter at intermission and he was tempted to jerk Francis out of his seat to get refreshments so that they would not have to talk and would not have to just sit idly. Instead, he opened his mouth.</p><p>                “What’d you think, babe?” Might as well take care of things now. Francis turned to him, pondering.</p><p>                “Everything was in place.” Scaramouche half waited, half swallowed down the look of absolute confusion. He waited for some other detail, maybe a mention of how merry the first song sounded, or how maybe the musician who wrote the third piece was using some melancholy.</p><p>                “It was like a well-oiled machine,” Francis tried instead. “Each part flowed into the next.” He gestured to each area of the stage where the musicians had been, trying to explain how it had all worked synchronously. Scaramouche listened carefully, a sense of bemusement at how little Francis actually knew about music striking him. He knew the flute, because he had asked about Scaramouche’s before, and knew no other instrument by name. It was also clear that Francis was trying to pay attention and understand the best he could. When Francis finished, Scaramouche bit down the next question. It was pointless, and he knew it. He so badly wanted to know if Francis liked it, and knew that Francis did not have an opinion.</p><p>                “I’m thinking about getting a drink, babe. Can I get you one?”</p><p>                “Non, merci.” Scaramouche blinked. He knew the bot was a bit of a lightweight and had hoped Francis knew that Scaramouche only got him the mildest thing available on purpose. That was how they had always worked it out after Francis had such an intense reaction to just a sip of Scaramouche’s own drink, which was strong and citrusy, the way he liked. They had experimented, and Francis could tolerate lower alcohol content drinks.</p><p>                “You sure, babe?” Francis nodded, yet still rose when Scaramouche stood up. With their fingers linked again, he did not have the heart to tell Francis he could wait for him. He loved his company too much for that anyway. He was declined again at the counter and nearly bit his tongue off at some of the whispered remarks he overheard about not being able to get his entertainment drunk. So much for his hearing being out of whack. He had gotten something Francis would find too strong, so he did not offer to share. Instead, he put it on the side table furthest from Francis and wrapped his arm around his husband when the smaller bot leaned in for the second half.</p><p>                It was not until they were back in the car and heading home that Scaramouche realized why Francis had declined him. He had wanted to be at peak mental ability. Yes, the stare had been intense and blank, yet he was trying so hard to understand. Like the first half, he had tried to explain how it had worked, letting Scaramouche teach him the names of the instruments this time around until they were kicked out for lingering too long.</p><p>                “I don’t understand music,” Francis admitted.</p><p>                “Well, it’s …” Scaramouche paused. He was distracted by the fact that this was one of the few bots that could always fluster him enough to leave him at a loss for words and that was why he loved him so much. He bought himself a little more time by bringing Francis’ hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles.</p><p>                “You know I was built to perform music, babe,” he smiled before letting himself out. He quickly moved to let Francis out. If he was going to have this conversation, then it was probably best to do it as fast as possible. It was going to be both a relief and painful. He did not wait until they were all the way up to his suite.</p><p>                “There used to be five of us, babe,” he continued as they were in the elevator. If anyone else had joined, it would not really matter. It had been a big deal at the time and truthfully, Francis probably could have looked it up. It was a nice bit of privacy that he had not seemed to and maybe Scaramouche needed to offer more of the same, now that he was thinking about it.</p><p>                “We used to perform! Oh it was so magical, babe, being up on stage, letting the music fill every nook and cranny!” He should have gone on, could have tried to explain in his own way what music meant to him, yet it was always painful, even after ten years of grieving.</p><p>                “But something happened,” Francis stated simply when Scaramouche trailed off.</p><p>                “Bit of an understatement, but yeah, you could say that, babe.” Francis took his free hand and gave it a few squeezes as Scaramouche let them in. “There was … You know there’s always risks when you’re that famous. Sometimes it’s easier to just pretend we were at the right place at the wrong time, but it was intentional.” He sunk onto the couch and wrapped an arm around Francis at the bot joined him.</p><p>                “I was in the back with the second oldest, so we were mostly in the clear. Not that we stayed there for long, babe. We both raced up to the front of the stage, but it was too late. We lost both our sisters and our creator that day.” He was speaking fast now, just trying to get through it. There was no reason to recount how physically and emotionally hurt he had been for weeks and years respectively. It would not make a difference to Francis since it was just words.</p><p>                “The three of us could not perform after that. It hurt too much, babe. Music had been everything I was and everything I had in life, and it was gone. So I honed what power I had, lit that fire of revenge, and started as a bounty hunter. Worked my way up the ranks to assassin with some convincing. So it’s …”</p><p>                “It’s very important to you,” Francis finished the thought after a while. “I’m sorry that I can’t understand it.”</p><p>                “I suppose I’m the same with you, babe. I don’t know why you’re so willing to sacrifice so much for strangers,” Scaramouche smiled down at him. It was a relief that there was something other than than a lack of care.  “Anytime you want me to play you more music, babe, I’d be happy to oblige. Anytime, anywhere!”</p><p>                “No one has offered played music just for me before.” Scaramouche felt the corners of his mouth dip. He hoped that was Francis’ version of saying he wanted him to play right now, although he was also kicking himself for not offering sooner. It was not exactly safe to play for long when they were out hunting. All of the music had been for a quick fight or rearranging a campsite in a few notes. Still, he could have when they finished a catch or when they were taking a break.</p><p>                “Then let me remedy that, babe! I present to <em>you</em> … Concerto de Scaramouche!” He bowed, regardless of the fact that Francis had missed the cue to applaud. Drawing out his flute that was tucked safely into an added inner pocked of his own suit, next to his emergency dagger, he pulled it to his lips with a pregnant pause.</p><p>                The first song was simple and quick. It was a warm-up and would have been embarrassing to play for a stranger, yet he wanted to make sure he was at his peak performance for every other song. He risked a glance, expecting the cold eyes staring him down, now trained on the flute. Grinning, he launched into the next bright tune as his eyes clicked off.</p><p>                Every few songs, he would open his eyes for a while to make sure he his audience was not getting bored or restless. There was still the intense gaze with every look. He played on, letting the flow of the music carry him wherever it wanted. It was how he usually played when it was just him, yet he wanted to make this one unique. A concert that was one of a kind because it was <em>for</em> <em>Francis</em>. It was no longer a concern if Francis could not see how unique this experience was or even understand the simplest concepts of music. This was an opportunity to do something that no one had ever done for this bot, and he was more than happy to seize upon it.</p><p>                He played nearly as long as the concert they had just seen without a break. As the joints in his fingers began to pop with more use than he had put them to in a long while, he let the music dwindle only to finish with one more majestic song. The flute was pulled from his lips and he bowed again. It had been far too long since he had played for an audience and he suddenly felt lonely in the silence. Francis eyes were trained on him, watching his expression now as Scaramouche forced a smile.</p><p>                “Thank you for playing for me.” Scaramouche’s strained smile softened. That was more than he could have ever hoped for from Francis and swopped down to express his own gratitude.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 10:</p><p>                “Can’t believe we have to haul the deadweight all the way back with us, babe,” Scaramouche complained again. He had selected the target, so it was mostly his fault, although he had thought with his credentials and the very convincing photo he sent that the target was dead would get him off the hook. It had not been enough. He was thankful Francis was doing most of the dirty work. The smaller bot had volunteered the haul the body, used to taking back live targets. Scaramouche carried their bags. He made it a point to ask every hour if he could relieve Francis for a while, yet each time he was denied.</p><p>                “What do you say we call it a night here, babe? It’s a nice clearing, and puts us at a six hour walk tomorrow. We can get up, make it back to town for lunch, then head out again for another target before we ditch this forest. Plus, I hear a stream nearby and would be nice to clean up a little after that fight.” Francis accepted the offer, shrugging the body off his shoulder and easing it to the ground. Truthfully, Scaramouche just thought Francis looked a bit smaller than usual under the weight of the body. He had the usual excuse of “oh, I’m feeling a bit tired, babe” up his sleeve if Francis declined although it seemed like his husband was actually in that boat.</p><p>                “If you’ll watch the body, I will go and clean up first,” Francis stated.</p><p>                “Sure thing, babe. Don’t think he’s going anywhere though,” he grinned. Francis only nodded and Scaramouche pointed in the direction of the stream. He mused, again, as to Francis’ sense of humor or if it even existed. Not that it mattered. Scaramouche was careful to be straightforward with his important requests or when asking consent. He prepared the mat, cleared a spot for them to sleep, and rearranged a few larger rocks to sit on with the help of his flute. Francis returned shortly, beautifully shirtless and his damp hair clinging to his back. Scaramouche tore his eyes away to return his attention to lighting their small fire.</p><p>                “I’ll be back in a few, babe,” he grinned, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before heading off to clean the grime off his boots. By the time he returned, Francis had their oil heated and was waiting for him, hair brush sat out, much to Scaramouche’s delight. He forced himself to sit and eat, his fingers itching to get into his hair.</p><p>                “Guess the fire helped dry it faster than usual, babe,” Scaramouche murmured as he eased the tangles out before setting to work. Francis made a flat tone in agreement. The damp hair slid easily between his fingers as he began brushing it. He supposed it always took a long time to dry, although sometimes it seemed faster than others. Then again, Scaramouche was easily distracted by Francis’ lips on his and did not always pay attention to the time.</p><p>                Scaramouche volunteered to take the first shift, surprised that Francis had agreed readily that he was indeed tired, meaning he must have been downright exhausted since he tended to always scale down his issues. Leaning back against the rock and letting Francis cuddle up against his leg, he petted the loose braid as he felt Francis drift into stasis.</p><p>                The air was quiet and still. The howls of wolves carried and there was the faint sound of other nocturnal animals about hunting, nearly drowned out by the steady noise of the stream. It made it easy to guard their campsite, as only a silent predator would be able to get close under Scaramouche’s listening ear.</p><p>                He supposed the wolves were a little too loud as Francis rolled away from him to get comfortable. It took him another ten minutes to realize the tight ball Francis had curled up into more closely resembled the fetal position rather than comfort. His legs were tucked in tightly, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, and Scaramouche could just detect the slight tremble.</p><p>                “What’s wrong, babe?” Scaramouche knelt over him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. Francis jerkily shook his head. His jaw was clenched so tightly that Scaramouche was surprised the joints in his jaw had not popped.</p><p>                “It’s alright, babe. You don’t have to pretend to be invulnerable,” Scaramouche encouraged, trying to keep his tone light. The panic was there, just below his plates as he tried to get a better look at Francis’ face. Even if he picked up the bot and ran, they would not get medical attention for close to four hours. He could probably call in a couple of favors and shave it down to two with a ride.</p><p>                “Do you need medical attention, babe?” There was another painstakingly slow shake of his head. “Babe. Be serious.”</p><p>                “Non … Not … worst.” Each word came out through gritted teeth. Scaramouche felt a shutter run through his core at the thought.</p><p>                “Alright, babe. I’ll take your word for it. What can I do to help? Want me to hold you?” To his surprise, there was a slight nod. He slid down the mat so that he could wrap his arms around Francis. The smaller bot leaned against him.</p><p>                “Just … little while … goes … away.”</p><p>                “If there’s anything I can do, babe…”</p><p>                “Sit … up?” It took a burst of will power to not bolt up. He moved slowly, easing Francis up and into his lap. He situated Francis’ head against his chest and rubbed soothing circles on his back.</p><p>                Scaramouche frowned as Francis finally began unfurling himself twenty minutes later with a soft “I’m alright now.” There definition of a “little while” was nowhere near the same. Forcing a blast of hot air from his mouth, he tilted Francis’ chin up.</p><p>                “I was trying not to bother you.” Another blast was exhaled as he leaned down to kiss Francis on the forehead.</p><p>                “Francis … It’s not like it was before. I don’t want you to treat me like your creator. If I’m doing something that reminds you of him, babe, tell me and I’ll stop if it’s making you feel that way.”</p><p>                “Non, you’re nothing like him now. You used to lose your temper, but you don’t do that with me now.”</p><p>                “I’m sorry for that, babe. I shouldn’t have then.” He hugged him gently before he felt Francis pulling away. The French robot took to his feet, swaying a moment before stabilizing on his feet.</p><p>                “It helps to walk,” he explained quietly. Scaramouche nodded and rose to his feet, offering his hand. It was accepted with three quick squeezes.</p><p>                “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. Even if I can’t help, babe, I’ll sit with you.”</p><p>                “It was just a small flair-up. It just happens occasionally.”</p><p>                “And there’s nothing you can do about it, huh, babe?” They both knew it was rhetorical, as Francis barely nodded in response as they circled around the small campsite.</p><p>                “How long has it been happening, babe?”</p><p>                “A few years.” Scaramouche felt his step falter, yet corrected himself quickly.</p><p>                “How … how often, babe?”</p><p>                “Every few weeks or so.” There was no way he had not had a flair-up while in Scaramouche’s company. They must have been less intense or …</p><p>                “Anytime you weren’t in bed with me or came back from a ‘shower’ with your hair dry, babe?”</p><p>                “I’ve been taught I’m not supposed to ask for help if it’s something I can deal with.” Scaramouche figured he would have to replace his oral lubricant with the amount of hot air he found himself expelling from his mouth. It likely was beginning to evaporate. It was times like this he wished Francis’ creator were still alive so he could kill him personally. He had never asked Francis how he had done it, wanting to discuss the bastard as little as possible.</p><p>                “Babe, I <em>want</em> you to tell me if something is wrong, okay?”</p><p>                “Okay.” There was nothing more said. Francis took two more laps around the campsite before settling back on their mat.</p><p>                “I can take my watch now.”</p><p>                “Why don’t you rest, babe? I’ll catch up on recharge tomorrow,” Scaramouche insisted. Francis yielded, resting his head in Scaramouche’s lap to compromise.</p><hr/><p>                Scaramouche lazily watched as the last of the house-hold help scampered off the property. He finished wiping the blood off his dagger on a clean patch on his dead target’s clothing. It would have been too easy to track down and dispatch all of them. The reports indicated that the target was the only allied person to the rebels, so he told himself there was no need. It made a good example, Scaramouche placated himself. He told them all to run when he made his grand entrance.</p><p>                Clicking the dagger halves open, he struck the main gas line and quickly made his own way out. He was safely on his rented bike as the mansion exploded behind him. A smile touched his face as he received a picture from Francis. Francis had asked very vaguely if Scaramouche would mind pictures before. Scaramouche had of course said he would not and was curious as to what that would mean. He would have enjoyed nudes anytime (Francis was indeed good looking), yet what he got was even better. Anytime Francis was thinking of him or saw something he thought Scaramouche would appreciate he would send it. Typically it was something purple since Francis was on the lookout for it.</p><p>                Today’s was a purple frog with a ring of orange around its neck. Besides it being cute, it was an easier way to indicate Francis was up and about. They had never gotten into texting a daily “how are you?” since it would hardly benefit the other. Scaramouche was partially relieved Francis was following through to let him anytime he had a flair-up. It was hard to gage how bad it was since Francis did not operate under a similar pain scale nor would say it was ever bad enough to require medical work. Still, it was nice to see the old programming wearing thin. If only he could convince him to be a little louder in the bedroom…</p><p>                He wished he could bail and go bounty hunting now that his target had been dispatched. Instead, he sighed and made his way to the heart of the city. He would lie low the rest of today and plan his next move. His superiors had made it quite clear he needed to pull more weight and his ranking could not afford to take another long holiday. There was nothing in the radar in Francis’ area either, and it did not feel safe enough to have Francis hunt where the targets were located. Not to mention it would be too much of a red flag. His relationship was mostly out of public view, although he was sure word would get out to his targets if he was not careful.</p><p>                Flopping down on the bed, much too large now that he had it all to himself, he ordered room service to be delivered outside the door. Sometimes he hated the big name targets since he was forced to lie low rather than party with the locals. He wanted company and fun and music and…</p><p>                Really just Francis. He never had the chance to take Francis out celebrating after a tough job. By the time he met back up, the high of victory had faded. They could do all of those things, yet he just wanted to revel in the victory with his husband.</p><p>                ‘Miss you, babe,’ he sent the quick ping. ‘Any chance you’re free to chat?’</p><p>                ‘Out tracking. I should have my target in a couple of hours.’ Well, he could wait that long. No sense in taking away Francis’ joy of the hunt for his own amusement. His food had arrived and it was early enough in the day that he could play his own music. He would just compose a victory march and that would have to suffice until he could take out a large target safely in Francis’ vicinity.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11:</p><p>                Finally. After over a year into their marriage, he had finally drawn out more than just a sigh when they made out. They had been kissing for a long while that night. Scaramouche had deftly eased Francis’ shirt off of the smaller bot’s shoulders when they started so he could let his fingers explore his chest while Francis kissed him deeply. The electrified fingers running along the seams must have done it, Scaramouche mused, taking a bit more control as he felt Francis falter. The moan must have startled him since he was nearly silent most of the time.</p><p>                When he was shoved away, Scaramouche forced his eyes to click back on. They flickered as his steaming body tried to process what was going on. He had fallen back, catching himself painfully on his elbows as Francis scrambled off his lap.</p><p>                “What’s wrong, babe? It’s … you’re allowed to make noise,” he added encouragingly. It struck him that some sort of fear response could have been triggered as he watched Francis barely make it to his feet. He was upright for less than a second as he pitched forward on his hands and knees. Scaramouche rushed to his side as darkened oil spilled over his lips.</p><p>                “Sar … sorry,” Francis trembled before a second wave tumbled from him. “Came on … suddenly.” Scaramouche pulled the hair back to keep it clean and rubbed gentle circles on his back. Francis had been good about telling him when he was having a flair-up, although it was usually at least a couple hours of a lower level of pain before he would admit something was wrong. Scaramouche had been able to read him and would just make it a point of walking slower if they were hunting or pull him into his lap to help him sit upright if they were done for the day until Francis announced he needed to let it run its course. There had not been any signs tonight. It was unusual for him to be vomiting, too.</p><p>                “It’s alright, babe. Can I hold you?” Francis shook his head as he fingers curled into the dirt. “Don’t worry if you get a little oil on my coat, babe! It’ll clean. I don’t mind—” His reassurance was cut short as Francis pitched forward and was sick a third time. Scaramouche just managed to wrap an arm around his chest to keep him from face planting into the burnt oil and…</p><p>                Was there a hint of red? He pulled Francis up and away, the smaller bots arms unable to find purchase and keep him held up. The smaller frame trembled in his arms as the dull eyes looked up at him. Scaramouche could hear the fans running hard, a clear indicator that there was something still wrong with Francis, even though he no longer looked like he was about to be sick.</p><p>                Pulling a cloth from his pocket, Scaramouche dabbed at Francis lips. In the pale light of Francis’ eyes, he could still clearly tell there were streaks of red coolant mixed in with the burnt oil. Scaramouche shifted the smaller bot so he was sitting fully in his lap. Francis closed his eyes and rested his head against Scaramouche’s chest.</p><p>                “I’m alright now,” Francis murmured ten minutes later. “I’m very tired.”</p><p>                “Do you want to eat a little first? You lost a lot of oil, babe … and coolant.” Neither one of them had coolant on hand since it was not typical to carry. It would have to be added directly and the equipment was too bulky for travel.</p><p>                “Oui. That would be nice.” Scaramouche propped him up against a large boulder he had moved into their campsite earlier that night and started a small cooking fire. Scaramouche wanted to look him over as he began heating the oil, but seeing his slumped form and dull eyes made him feel like the scarf was tied too tightly around his own neck.</p><p>                Francis ate greedily. Scaramouche wondered if perhaps this would explain why there were some mornings Francis was so ravenous. It was not often, yet happened just enough times to leave an impression.</p><p>                “Francis, I think we should go see someone about this.”</p><p>                “They can’t do anything about it,” Francis answered simply, scraping the edge of the bowl to get every last drop.</p><p>                “But what if they can?” Scaramouche pleaded, feeling his throat tighten again even as he forced the words out. Francis conceded, attempting to rise and clean the bowl before Scaramouche snapped at him to stay put.</p><p>                “Get some rest, babe,” he amended softly. “I’ll keep watch all night.” It was a quiet trek back to town the next morning. The puddle of foul liquid now seeping into the earth still left Scaramouche on edge. Francis seemed to at least walk at normal speed, his hand loosely in Scaramouche’s grasp. The emergency clinic offered no help and merely referred them to the specialist across town. He could provide no guidance without a proper scan and the schematics. Against Francis’ protests, Scaramouche took him to the hospital so they could at least take care of one of the issues.</p><p>                An oil filter sensor was failing. Scaramouche wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. It was such a small component, yet the hospital would not even consider performing the procedure to replace it.</p><p>                “Because the schematics aren’t on file,” Scaramouche sighed.  “I <em>know</em>, babe. Why can’t you just … do something to get them? Francis is right here and willing, right, babe?” Francis gave a single nod. “Just pull them directly from him! Surely there is a way.”</p><p>                “Typically yes,” the medical bot explained carefully. The voice was even, almost cold, from the years of delivering devastating news. “However, an illegal failsafe has been installed so that if we attempt recreate the schematics by gathering the details directly, the main processors will be stripped of the data.” Scaramouche blinked. He was on his feet before he even realized it, towering threateningly over  the medical bot. There was a gentle tug on his arm.</p><p>                The look was as indecipherable as ever. Still, it fizzled out the anger and Scaramouche righted his chair before collapsing back into it. His eyes dulled as he gripped the hand in return.</p><p>                “And there’s nothing that can be done about the failsafe?” His own question boarded on a statement.</p><p>                “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”</p><hr/><p>                Scaramouche bit down the curse as another prospect was deemed impossible. He had been searching and asking and hunting for a doctor willing to take the risk. There were so few remaining on his list to hear back from. He had tapped into his resources again, checking to see where his fellow assassins had gotten their semi-legal upgrades and under the table medical work done. Half of those leads were already dead, out of practice, or out of their mind. The other half was skeptical. They had turned over a new leaf or just could not help without better details. He had two that would do something as a last resort, but would not even take a look at Francis if it was not life or death. They did not want his permanent shut-down on their hands.</p><p>                So they had been told to “keep an eye on it.” A faulty sensor would not kill him outright, although it would be uncomfortable at best. There were other sensors, and the optimistic of the lot suggested that the other sensors could bare the load and symptoms would decrease as his processors readjusted. The more realistic of the lot warned of the more likely possibility. The other sensors would rot and he would be unable to do anything as impurities in his oil system broke down other components. Monitoring intake and loss would help. Scaramouche demanded that Francis immediately refuel if he lost coolant and the bot complied. It was just a matter of watching him decay now.</p><p>                Scaramouche shook his head to clear his thoughts. Francis was still securing the target. A frown formed as he studied his husband. He had been distracted raiding the campsite, yet it felt like it had been too long. The knotwork looked as intricate as usual, and it was not like the target was putting up a fight to slow things down.</p><p>                “You feeling alright, babe?” Francis glanced up and nodded. There was no indication of pain. Had he been fighting at the same caliber as usual? Something had seemed off. Scaramouche just could not put his finger on it.</p><p>                “How about we call it a day, babe? The site’s all set up nicely. Maybe we can do a bit of practice sparring?” Scaramouche did not have to wonder if Francis saw through his ploy. The bot agreed to both, rising now that their target was tied up with a bow.</p><p>                “Now?” Francis drew up both of his swords in front of him.</p><p>                “If you’re up to it, babe. We can rest a bit, too. There’s a good few hours of sunlight left, just not enough to make it back.”</p><p>                “I’m fine. You did most of the work.” Scaramouche grinned sheepishly. He supposed he had not been sharing the workload fairly as of late. Francis still proved to hold his own when Scaramouche was forced to return to his other duties and he needed to trust him.</p><p>                “Sorry about that, babe. I’ve been … lost in thought.” He pulled out his own dagger, the halves clicked together for safety. His own sword was on his back and ready to be drawn in an instant, yet he really just wanted to make sure Francis was up to speed. They squared off in the clearing.</p><p>                Clashing swords, Scaramouche felt the sinister grin tug at his face. The strength and skill were still present in his partner. He backed out of the first attack he launched and spun clear. Francis approached, making a quick jab with his right. Scaramouche blocked and dove from the swipe with Francis’ left. Going for an overhead strike, Scaramouche was already visualizing how to break out of the X hold Francis went for when Francis’ left sword fell free.</p><p>                Scaramouche’s step faltered as he pulled out of the attack, nicking Francis’ arm as he pulled his blade away. Francis blinked as he studied his left hand. He tested the fingers individually before opening and closing his fist.</p><p>                “My grip failed,” he admitted, still working the joints as if to recreate the feeling. “The movements are a bit sluggish.”</p><p>                “How’s your arm, babe?” Scaramouche frowned at the cut that oozed oil.</p><p>                “It’s shallow,” Francis stated simply after a cursory glance. “A thin temporary plate is all I’ll need.”</p><p>                “How long has it been that way, babe?” Scaramouche murmured. “I wish you would tell me if something is wrong. I don’t care how trivial it is!”</p><p>                “I didn’t notice. Everything feels a bit slower now that the flair-ups are more frequent.” Scaramouche was silent as he patched the gash. He remained that way as they ate and as Francis curled up into his lap to rest. Of course he should have known that the flair-ups, now coming once and sometimes even twice a week rather than a couple of times a month, would be taking a toll. Francis had been good at hiding it, as per his usual. He kept hunting, alone or by Scaramouche’s side. The sluggish factor was nearly impossible to see until today.</p><p>                Scaramouche bit at his own lip as Francis studied his hand again. He watched as the wrist twitched, the fingers sitting unresponsive. After a few seconds, they resumed curling into and unfurling from the fist.</p><p>                “Do you want to have it checked out?” Francis asked. Knowing it would hardly resolve anything, Scaramouche shook his head.</p><p>                “It’s up to you, babe.” There was nothing that could be done, at least not yet. Francis turned to face Scaramouche, straddling his hips as he hugged him tight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 12:</p><p>                The five-year estimate Francis had originally quoted had been too generous. It had been two years since Francis had admitted he was basically on a count down. Scaramouche thought it would be longer. Had hoped and maybe even prayed they would have more time.</p><p>                Everything about the situation was almost ridiculous. He could not even force a laugh anymore. A faulty sensor. A stupid, tiny sensor that should have been so easy, so simple, so <em>safe</em> to fix was killing him. If the same thing had happened to Scaramouche, he would have been in and out in less than an hour.</p><p>                It was not fair! Scaramouche bit at his lip, trying to keep everything down. He had been so good about keeping it together in front of Francis for the last couple of months. He made sure he was by his side whenever the doctors needed to talk, or rather, give them more bad news. Francis had done what he could. He would use his right hand to press his useless left into Scaramouche’s hand as long as he could. When the right arm started to become as unresponsive, he would just lean his head against Scaramouche’s arm as they walked.</p><p>                “Sca-ra?” Scaramouche snapped to attention. He dashed to Francis’ side, cupping his cheek and tracing his thumb along his jaw.</p><p>                “I’m right here, babe. I’ve got you.” His own jaw was groaning at how tightly it was clinched as the dull blue eyes flitted around the room before the crosshairs locked on his eyes. Out of habit, he reached for Francis’ right hand and gave it three squeezes. He had no idea if the bot could still feel the pressure at this stage. He hoped so as the crosshairs became unfocused again, glancing off towards the right side of the room.</p><p>                “Ss … Scara.” It was more of a statement this time, and Scaramouche felt his own processors seize up. The scan must be done.</p><p>                “It’s … it’s time, babe?” Francis’ mouth opened to respond, yet no sound was produced. He gave a partial nod instead before pressing his face into Scaramouche’s hand.</p><p>                “Babe. It’s … it’s …” ‘<em>It’s going to be fine</em>’ he so badly wanted to tell him. He had the best doctors here, they were at the best facility, and Scaramouche would not spare a single expense! It was a lie and they both knew it.</p><p>                “I don’t want to lose you, babe,” Scaramouche whispered, his façade breaking. His lips trembled and he nearly sobbed as he saw Francis’ shoulder twitch, an effort to move the useless arm up to comfort him.</p><p>                “Don’t … want … to leave … you.” Scaramouche nodded, clicking his eyes off to hide his expression. He forced them back on when Francis made a quiet noise of pain. A thin trickle of the red coolant dripped from the corner of his mouth.</p><p>                “I know. I know, baby.” There was a soft knock at the door as the medical attendant entered. They began making the preparations to move Francis back.</p><p>                “Listen, babe, I’ll be here <em>when</em> you wake up,” he forced the words out. He would not say if. He did not care how pessimistic (‘<em>realistic’</em> they had claimed) the doctors were. “I love you.”</p><p>                At least he got a nod. The coolant stains lips parted, but there was nothing more he could say. The faded blue eyes darkened as he was wheeled out.</p><p>                Despite the noise and the bustle he could so clearly hear throughout the building, Scaramouche had never felt more alone. He collapsed into the chair that had been his bed and home for the last few days, pulled his knees up to his chest, and sobbed.</p><hr/><p>                It had not been hard to find the gravestone. Scaramouche had marked out the cemetery long before Francis’ pain, suffering, and decaying had been known to him. He had placed a landmark here in his mental records in case he ever found himself bounty hunting in the area shortly after Francis had finally divulged the name one night  when they were chatting.</p><p>                The thought crossed his mind that he would have had a good laugh for the first time in weeks if there had been some blatant lie about being beloved. How could anyone care about that man who had been so vile to his own creation? Francis had told him his creator did not have much of a family as far as he knew. It did not amount to much, seeing as Francis had been told so little truth. All that was told to him in spades, Francis had recounted, was how terrible he performed, how he deserved to be punished so he would learn, and how much harder he needed to work. It was with a sickening realization that Francis had no idea the laws protecting his occupation when he offhandedly spoke about his past. The memory of Francis just shrugging when Scaramouche had informed him his creator was in violation of at least 23 laws and regulations finally caused him to snap.</p><p>                He loved the feel of the stone shattering and breaking below his boots. No one made a move to stop him, instead scurrying away after hastily finishing paying their own respects to the surrounding graves. It did not matter if he was reported or fined or punished in some other way. He almost wished for more of a challenge, a grounds keeper trying to tackle him as he kicked at the crumbling rock.</p><p>                His hand reached automatically for his tuning dagger. It is in his grasp and ready to be unleashed when he shook his head. No. He wanted to destroy everything around and at the very least demolish every last pebble of this grave. He could not allow himself to do so. There were still too many people around, now staring with morbid curiosity, and the explosion might hurt them. Francis would not have done that … would not have wanted that.</p><p>                So he was careful as he destroyed the one grave. That was alright, he assured himself. It was just a little bit of property damage and probably was not even bothering anyone too badly. Sure, the grave was kept clean and weed free, yet there were no flowers, no trinkets, no indication at all anyone had visited since he was killed six years ago.</p><p>                It was just a small round of destruction to blow off some steam. As a robot, he did not have to breathe, yet he found his oral lubricant evaporated with all of the hot air he had blasted out of his mouth the entire time. His fans were on full blast as he stared down at his handiwork.</p><p>                There was something he could leave to mark his presence. He drew out one of his backup daggers, untouched as his fighting skill was unmatched. Taking a calculated guess, he plunged it into the ground, directly above where the creator’s heart would be … if he even had one to start. The bystanders melted out of his path as he made his way out of the cemetery.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 13:</p><p>                “You defiled his grave?”</p><p>                “I was angry, babe!” Scaramouche exclaimed, begrudgingly transferring the credits to pay the fine he had just received. “And … scared. But I didn’t hurt anyone, babe. I was careful. Besides, what would you have done?!”</p><p>                “I would have waited,” Francis stated, cuddling closer to Scaramouche’s side. “But I’m good at waiting for days on end. You’re very impatient for an assassin.” Scaramouche hugged him tight.</p><p>                “Well … I’m not anymore, babe,” he admitted quietly. The silence was heavy as Scaramouche presumed Francis was mulling over the information. They had not talked about their future since Francis had been released two days prior. This was the longest conversation Francis had had the strength for. Waking him long enough to eat had been a difficult process, yet Scaramouche was more than happy to have to do it.</p><p>                “You don’t have to quit for me.”</p><p>                “I know, babe. I did it for <em>us</em>. I’ve been really reflecting and I think it’s time for a break. I miss the good old days of picking whatever target I wanted and not from a condensed list my superiors created. I’ve got a good amount saved up and I can change my lifestyle if need be. We can make it work.” The glance at the useless arm wedged between them did not go unnoticed by Scaramouche.  While there was a much greater hope he would regain most of his strength and stamina, there was a consensus among the specialist that the use of his left arm would never come back. They had more than hinted that Francis should consider himself lucky that he had any use of his right arm. It would mean a lot of lifestyle changes for the both of them, and Scaramouche was glad it seemed that Francis was done talking for now. He was not quite ready to tackle all of the new obstacles.</p><p>                Francis settled against him again and closed his eyes. Scaramouche was debating if he should call it a day himself and power off when Francis spoke again.</p><p>                “You’ll have to find some way to keep my arm out of the way when we have sex. Handcuffs or rope ought to work. I’m used to those.” Scaramouche’s jaw hung slack for a moment before he found any words.</p><p>                “A-are you serious, babe?”</p><p>                “It’s a joke. Doesn’t that make it funny? When it could go either way?” Scaramouche barked a laugh as it all registered. That had been so low on the list of changes. Still, he was feeling more hopeful that they could take it one step at a time.</p><p>                “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, babe. Now get some sleep, because I’m about to join you!”</p><hr/><p>                “I will have to find another occupation,” Francis stated. As much as Scaramouche eyed the bench, silently willing his husband to sit and take a break, the smaller bot continued moving along the street.</p><p>                “You know you can just retire, babe,” Scaramouche insisted.</p><p>                “Two streams of income, for as long as I can, would be helpful. Medical costs are just going to go up.” Scaramouche shook his head. He knew that Francis’ damn work ethic was to blame for all of this. The scarf was feeling too tight around his neck again as the realization struck. He would likely go back to his old job. While he and Francis had been taking it easy in the bedroom, mostly because Scaramouche wanted him to fully recover, it was evident that Francis’ strength was returning. They had already been walking for two hours, and Francis was still on his feet.</p><p>                “I was thinking gardening.”</p><p>                “What?” Scaramouche blinked.</p><p>                “A job related to gardening.” Scaramouche knew he still looked dumbfounded when he turned his gaze towards Francis. Sometimes, he was convinced this bot was a mind reader.</p><p>                “What makes you say that, babe? Just … something you’re interested in?”</p><p>                “It was the best part of my day when my creator was still around. I was allowed to help out in the gardens.”</p><p>                “And here I didn’t think your creator let you have any fun, babe.” He had slowed his steps, feeling that Francis had been steadily growing tired throughout the last block.</p><p>                “He didn’t care. I was highly supervised and could not have escaped anyway.”</p><p>                “I suppose it was just more free labor, too, babe,” Scaramouche sighed. “How come you’ve never asked to have plants at our place?”</p><p>                “We weren’t around enough.” True, their schedule meant they were very rarely home. Most of their time spent together had been bounty hunting.</p><p>                “I could have asked the cleaning staff to water them, babe.”</p><p>                “It’s not the same as tending them.” That was a fair assessment, too. Scaramouche would just pretend it was not hints of the old programming of not asking for something making that decision for Francis.</p><p>                “How about we take our walk at the garden center tomorrow, babe? We’ll pick up a few things for the place since you’ll be a little more local. Hell, I probably will be, too.”</p><p>                “That would be nice.” Scaramouche smiled at the three squeezes he received. It was still strange to have Francis on his left when Francis had spent so much time on his other side, holding his right hand. They had made the switch when Francis admitted he had no feeling in his left hand anymore and Scaramouche had terribly missed the small gesture himself. He returned the sentiment as Francis finally slowed to a stop.</p><p>                “Sorry. I have to rest.” It had still been an impressive walk. Scaramouche knew Francis was trying his best to make it home, having only four more blocks to go.</p><p>                “How about I just carry you home, babe? We have to rest up for our shopping spree tomorrow!” He was bid permission and scooped him into his arms. His mouth twitched at the catcalls and whistles, yet they were soon forgotten as Francis nuzzled in and kissed at the underside of his jaw.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for coming along this ride with me! I'm posting the final chapter today to celebrate four years of being obsessed with the tall assassin in purple. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 14</p><p>                The ping woke him from the light stasis. He jolted, scanning the campsite before settling back down. He had neglected to tell Francis he was bounty hunting in a different time zone, so that was on him. Opening up the mental message, he studied the rich yellow flower. He recognized it as an orchid. Although plants and flowers were Francis’ forte, they had been teaching each other a bit about their respective skill sets. Francis picked up on the technical side of music quite well. It always felt half taught to Scaramouche until he realized he himself could really only name certain types of plants and could never see the details that indicated the health unless it was blatantly obvious. Even then, he rarely knew what it meant. For one plant, the browning leaves might mean too little water. For another, too much sun. Francis seemed to know all of them.</p><p>                Still, there was not anything special he could note about the yellow orchid. He sent a quick return ping to indicate he got it and that he knew what type of flower it was. Letting Francis know it was still the middle of the night, he curled back in to sleep once he received a quick apology.</p><p>                Later in the afternoon, he received a flurry of different pictures. He grinned, figuring the garden center Francis worked for must have received a nice shipment. The first few he received were closer to blue than purple. An hour later, he received a picture of red roses, which Francis said were verified red, since he had been told the others were blue. Scaramouche sighed, unable to comprehend how Francis could deal with losing the colors. It seemed that after the surgery, his color perception had begun to deteriorate faster. Red and green had always been iffy, yet blue and orange seemed to go rapidly considering that Francis mentioned it took years for red and green to become indistinguishable.</p><p>                His heart sank as he incapacitated his target and realized it probably was not supposed to be a yellow orchid Francis meant to send. Francis’ color perception worked with a color wheel style, so opposite colors tended to start blending. At least that’s how it was when the blue and orange became increasingly difficult and then impossible for him to tell apart. He had admitted that red, greens, blues, and oranges generally all looked the same now.</p><p>                It was not the end of the world, Scaramouche decided, as he patched up his target to keep them alive and hefted them over his shoulder. Francis still had an eye for the natural beauty and Scaramouche appreciated whatever his husband sent. Purple or not, it just meant he was thinking about him.</p><p>                When Scaramouche returned home two days later with a large pending deposit in their joint savings account, his suspicions were confirmed. Francis studied him without greeting for a long while. The crosshairs darted back and forth between the golden orange scarf and royal purple of his coat.</p><p>                “Purple and yellow are gone,” he stated quietly as he looked down.</p><p>                “I figured they were going, babe. There were quite a bunch of yellows in the batches. They were still gorgeous. Not quite as handsome as you, babe,” he smiled warmly, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He waited a moment, hoping to steal a kiss now that they had taken care of the elephant in the room. Francis kept his head down.</p><p>                The absence of the usual blank look was a shock to his own system. It was such a rare occurrence to see anything there that no sound came out when he opened his mouth to try and console him. Because the chip was <em>corrupted</em>, sometimes there was a spark of emotion. It only seemed to be drawn out with the most intense emotions, and it made Scaramouche want to cry on his behalf.</p><p>                “Hey, it’s alright, babe,” he whispered, cupping his cheek and leaning down so they were at eye level. “Maybe I should switch up my fashion? I could roll with some black and white. Obviously the scarf stays, for sentimental reasons, but you know what color that is.”</p><p>                “I didn’t want to lose purple.” Scaramouche wrapped him in a tight hug. The working arm finally wrapped around his own waist.</p><p>                “I know, babe. I know.”</p><p>                “I still remember it,” came softly. That was why it was hurting him, Scaramouche knew. The other emotions and colors were barely distant memories, and this was important to him. His own voice was gone again, so he gingerly stroked at Francis’ hair, letting his husband nuzzle into the velvet material he used to search for in the forests.</p>
<hr/><p>                “Decrease the water to one quarter cup per day and pour it as slowly as possible to ensure each layer of the roots is properly moistened,” Francis explained before ending the recording. Scaramouche had been leaning on the counter and watching him deftly answer each video or picture questionnaire on plant care for the last hour. It had been a rough start to the day, and Francis had not had the energy to go into the garden center. Instead, he spent the day catching up on the backlog of questions. Troubleshooting the issues of customers had been his assigned specialty at the garden center when they realized how skilled he was. The owners had done a bit of tinkering with the system, working with Francis to develop a color chart that customers must use to describe the leaves or petals, which was all the information Francis needed to figure out what was wrong. Customers would bring their plants in or Francis would tend to the ones already at the garden center, or he would tackle the submitted questions. On days like today where his hip was acting up too much to do anything other than hobble to the dining room table, he worked from home. The owners had been quite accommodating when they saw how well he could diagnose issues. Scaramouche promised he would set any employer straight if Francis needed, yet his threatening was thankfully never needed.</p><p>                “So you can tell all that from a single picture, babe?” Scaramouche posed when Francis glanced over. “That the <em>gardener</em> was watering too fast and too much?”</p><p>                “Oui. See the veins on the leaf?” Francis zoomed in on the image on the screen as Scaramouche pulled out the chair next to him. “They’re bloated, yet the leaves are too pale a shade of blue according to the color chart.” Francis explained how the different levels of roots controlled different parts of the plant Scaramouche could not name as it looked too similar to three other plants of a similar species, and how each change would impact the overall health of the plant.</p><p>                “What’s wrong?” Francis posed when he had finished the explanation. Scaramouche shook his head as soon as he realized he was merely staring.</p><p>                “I just … You’re incredible, babe.”</p><p>                “I took many courses on plants.”</p><p>                “It’s not that, babe,” Scaramouche sighed good naturedly before chuckling. He leaned over and pressed their lips together.</p><p>                “I’ve had many lessons on that, too.” Scaramouche laughed harder, finally getting when Francis was joking. His husband had quite the impeccable sense of humor and he was a little disappointed he had not picked up on all the jokes when they were first dating.</p><p>                “I meant in general, babe. You’re just amazing. You overcome everything life throws your way and … well, it just makes you incredible!”</p><p>                “You’ve done the same.” The cheerful gleam faded a bit from Scaramouche’s eyes. He reminded himself that Francis was not deflecting the compliment and was merely offering one of his own. It sometimes felt less in comparison because he had so few personal hardships outside of the attack that started his new career. Not that he was complaining. The words just felt empty considering the years of abuse Francis overcame.</p><p>                “I still just think you’re wonderful, babe,” he added when the silence had gone on too long. “Come on, let me help you stretch out that hip joint. I know you’re <em>aching</em> to get up to the roof to care for the plants, babe!”</p>
<hr/><p>                It was more natural to keep his pace slow now when Francis’ hand was in his now. They had been working on this routine for a little over a year now. Granted it had been a little faster the first six months after the surgery until the hip issues had started. When Francis could, he still insisted on walking Scaramouche to the train station.</p><p>                Scaramouche loved it. It was far nicer than when he used to ride there alone, and the fact that Francis always asked to walk him there made it all the better.</p><p>                The limp had just become part of the way Francis walked now. Sometimes a little less prominent, and sometimes with the right work it was barely noticeable. Francis had finally started to enjoy when Scaramouche volunteered to help stretch and rub out his hip. At least he had no longer protested since Scaramouche had explained that he enjoyed helping him through the gentle motions. It was relaxing for both of them. It used to produce noticeable results, although those were becoming less and less obvious.</p><p>                Scaramouche smiled down at him as they slowed to a halt so Francis could rest a moment. They would likely be only to make this trek for another year at this rate. Probably within two years, Scaramouche would have to hire some sort of caretaker when he went out on missions longer than a couple of days. They had both come to accept that idea, and Scaramouche was confident they could work through it.</p><p>                The journey was continued after Francis finished stretching out the joint. There were still jibes at to how rough Scaramouche was in bed, but he had finally learned to just let them go. If he was having a bad day, the culprit would be leveled with a threatening glare, yet that was usually the worst of his retaliation. Francis would always pull away his attention with a quick series of squeezes, like he was doing now.</p><p>                Once they reached the train station, Francis gently tugged at Scaramouche’s scarf to pull him down for a kiss. Scaramouche complied readily. Any sign of affection was greatly appreciated in his books anyway. It was something he had really noticed that Francis learned from him, although he knew the acts of service were the most natural way Francis displayed he cared.</p><p>                “I’ll miss you, babe,” he sighed against the gentle lips as Francis pulled away.</p><p>                “It will be quiet without you.” Scaramouche cracked a grin as he pecked Francis on the nose.</p><p>                “I’ll be sure to keep in touch. I love you, babe.” He received a nod before hugging him tight. Those three words had never left Francis’ mouth, although Scaramouche knew he meant it. They said it in different ways all of the time. It had taken him far to long to realize it, although it left him hopeful for whatever future they had ahead of them.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Special thanks to SalaciousShipping and SapphireSins for allowing me to borrow Francis and their Franmouche ideas! You can find more information about Salacious Shipping's artwork here (https://twitter.com/salaciousships?lang=en). Thank you also to apple_08 for your advice and taking the time to read the half thought out ideas at midnight (and for coming along for the whole four year ride of my obsession. There will be many more years to come)! apple_08 has two great Franmouche stories that I recommend you check out here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_08/works?fandom_id=463695</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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